A Dollar Out of Fifteen Cents

This was my first published poem. I wrote this when I was 17 about my friend Jay who killed himself. Jay lived directly across the street from me growing up. He was like an older brother to me, but had become addicted to drugs and struggled with mental health, worsened by his drug addiction and a failed suicide attempt by his father. I had cut Jay’s hair the day before he killed himself without knowing he was having me do so for his funeral. I actually saw him hanging before they cut him down, which is an image burned in my memory. Rest in Paradise, my friend.

He grew up a city boy trying to be part of things
he left in a hurry
the problems life brings
He was tossed around like a raft in a terrible storm
just looking for an escape, or somewhere to keep warm
Always leaving friends, or a smile behind
if we only knew of the troubles going through his mind
He left us one morning cold as could be
he’ll never be back
the friend I’ll never see
His story is a tragedy
something not to be cursed upon
for I once had a friend, but now he’s gone
His abrupt exit left us one big mess
his severe decision has left me one friend less