I didn’t know him that well.
He wasn’t beautiful

Save for his voice.
I heard it at its best on many occasions
while he preached literature.

I wasn’t a member of his club.
Writing was never a skill

that I possessed as a child.
But his group and mine shared
the same study hall.

At times he scared me when he spoke.
His face contorted, grew purple.

gay marriage, racial equality.
These things invoked a righteous flame
in him and frightened his audience.

Sometimes his voice was amazing.
When he read his own works

he became utterly beautiful.
His eyes would shine and his
speech would captivate me.

At these times I loved him.
I was inexperience

and so told him directly.
Ah well, I could never have everything
in life, and I still had study hall.

His voice still entranced me.
I still loved him

When I finally decided.
it was even his podcast I
listened to as I cut myself.

A recitation of his from Poe.
My only fault was

cutting too deep and dying on
the wrong words with the wrong taste in my mouth.
“I could not bring my heart to joy at the same tone.
And all I loved, I loved alone”