Dear...

Hey, I just want to talk to you.

Not as chalk on the board but as a person.

You know he loved you, he sent all his secrets in his songs to you.

Words and melodies he's a mockingbird to you, just a little poetic song until you sleep.

Now you know he's going at it, climbing a dangerous ladder, a steep hill.

Trials and tribulations just to have a quick meal then it's back to hurting and working.

A sacrifice just to have you like his voice, he knew he didn't have much of a choice.

But to sin but when he wins, he'll get you in and you don't have to spend a penny.

Every tear comes piling across many years but for the sake of you he'll make it his life.

Night and day he'll write and play it back just to cry and hate it, because he wanted it perfect.

But if you like the track then it's worth it, if you see the work ethic he pulled then you'd respect him more.

Because he'd open your doors, kept the light open even though it's dim, kept you full even when he's slim.

He may not hustle through conventional means, but he still struggled to make a meaningful song to him.

Now he's no true gentleman but he's a gentle man, know the difference and that'll make the biggest significance.

Giving you a song about his past and more shows, out with the braggadocios, and the casket of his futures.

Talk about murder and on his knees around chalk like he witnessed a murder, golden tears you can hold them here.

There's nothing to fear when he's singing, feel the emotion behind the cracked voice and then you see that boy.

Not a teenager, we change backwards back to the boy who died inside him, that childishness now is his adult-self.

That boy didn't care about health but how to match words to a beat, sit down and go bezerk until he's asleep.

Sometimes he wouldn't listen to you, just keep sitting through then he'll be fitting his conversation ears to you.

But I'm not going back in time, God changed him for the better and now he's cold inside a sweater.

He wrote a letter to you, let me read it.

 

"Hello can you read me, can you see me, feel me but that's not important.

I'm writing this because if I die then you'd be seeing and reading this mash of words.

And I just want to say thank you for standing me, handling me, and being friends with me.

I wasn't strictly a good friend, never intended to be but I've changed my course for yours.

I could keep writing about my thanks but it'll take a little more of your time, so I'll keep it short.

It's about time I talk about suicide contemplations, now you and I know what I'm facing.

For a long time and a few off-and-on rhymes I've said that I wanted my head dead on the street.

Just a piece of cold meat on the pavement, because I lost the key to happiness locked in my basement.

I'm just making a statement, I can't take this abuse anymore, I need to let loose some more.

So why not I'll lose my life, no worth in it anyway because everyday those same words get to me.

On the fifteenth I'll be leaving, lifting my soul high up just to drop it low, gifting you all the freedom you need.

My seeds are rotten, best lost and forgotten, I've been robbing your lives as long as I'm alive so you'll be free.

Shifting pace I know, because because of this race I've been feeling real low, like I don't know where to go.

Every opportunity is leaving me like a one-way roundabout so I decided to drive it off the cliff and crash.

Now you may be thinking how to get me to forget it, you can't, the pain ingrained itself inside this brain.

This letter is getting long, I doubt you are strong enough to read it all and want to see the end faster.

Like my life you just want to pass the boring parts and get to the pouring of gold onto my heart.

There's no glamour to this planner, nothing else but the ender, so I'll be the pallbearer and get out your hair.

I just want to say I love you and I get it, you want to see me alive this minute.

But instead you can have this life to keep moving, another chapter ends another begins.

I love you so and I'll be gone."

 

Now you see who this letter is meant for.

There is no metaphor just a poor soul who've met a poor demise to his life.

He wanted to have a slice of the nice pie of life, but instead he sliced his life.

The pie is apple red like his blood on the after end, what I'm reading is true.

Because he did everything he wanted to do, even leaving you alone was a wish come true.

He knew he was bothering you, like an annoying brother he knew you wished he'd be gone.

He planned it and wish granted, he doesn't even have his casket, too expensive to grasp it.

He lasted and was forever stranded, what's a win to him other than a game win to his name.

He always wanted to be a rapper, now he is being under a wrapper and lowered into the dirt.

I marked his words so you can read them carefully, you can see them clearer than a mirror reflection.

I sparked this verse so you can hear it and maybe you'd can see his imperfections to a perfection.

You were always a complexion to him, try to project some theory just for you to see that he likes you.

His friends and family tried to reach him but he was too far away, it's a war everyday inside too.

That suicide wasn't metaphorical too, that was a true event but the death was never recorded.

Took the risk and come up short, tried to afford a car to drive late nights but he was deported.

Guess it's best that I introduce myself to you, my name is Rizka nice to meet you.

I'm what's left of him because I know he loved you and wanted to cherished every moment with you.

But the lavished soon turn him famished, starvation carved a place in his heart, that's my fault.

I shouldn't have let him go, now he'll let me know about this guilt about how he felt about me and you.

There's not much time to touch nice rhymes, this is pure emotion and there's no stop to the notion.

So now I'll say goodbye and let me remind you.

There may be oceans and seas but he is across a river and he's ready to give you the biggest hug.

As of now, He has passed away and here I say.

Thank you for this life.