Around six years ago my little brother started getting into the whole depressed, hair-over-one eye cut sort of thing. Dressing in black. Bit of red.

I mean I say he’s my little brother but hell he was like twenty at the time and just looking at him made me a bit glum. I’d read his poetry sometimes. All about death, hatred, bullies, heartbreak and so on and so forth. Sad, sad, terrible…sad stuff.

“Man,” he’d say, “I feel like, down today and I don’t know why. Just feel like cutting myself deep. You know, let the blood seep out.”

“God damnit, Billy,” I’d say. “Stop cutting yourself. Its no way to get over whatever the fuck you’re going through.”

“Whatever, man. Y’know that girl, Laury? Ignoring me and stuff. Fuckin’ life is pain.”

He would flip his hair.

20 years old I’d think to myself.

But I’d put my hand on his shoulder and noogie him a lil. Then I’d leave the room of speaker system screams while he adjusted his hair back into place.

I found him dead in front of his mirror October 21st, 2002.