November 26, 2007
His beautiful white face,
Matched his white shirt,
that matched the white patch that covered the bullet womb.
His black pants, matched the holy bible that was held in his hands.
But still he was smiling.
Not breathing, not thinking, not feeling, but smiling.
That’s how I, unlike most, realized it was going to be okay.
I knew he was happy, much happier.
The closer friends to my friend, were histerical.
Their voices, their thoughts, the way they do things, will never be the same.
But still, he’s smiling.

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