Letter to a friend

It started off,
the same kind of deal,
we'd smoke weed
fuck and take heaps of pills
you came for looks
i was there for thrills
until the feelings that
they made us feel
became the feelings
that made this real
and it went on for some time,
long nights and sunset drives
fucking in the back seat
behind a fisher and price
listening to punk and rap
and debating if christ
could make wine better
because if so,
religion could be nice
but some where
the bohemian bell fell
and now I'm sitting here,
thinking twice
I'm sitting in my room
with nothing to do
but to sleep and try
to dream of you,
it's getting hard,
insomnias tough,
the pillows lumpy
and the sheets feel rough
but theres a time when
my brain says lose touch
and i drift off to sleep
but it gets too much
the space in the sheets
makes the heart rush
and the room
outside of this bed,
i know everyone says it
you might be dead
but your kept alive
in the back of my head
with the dreams that i dream
of what you said
and i cant forget
all the times
we nearly saw death
and i just laugh
at how
we thought
our graves
would be
our bed