He Was A Brother

He was a brother

I never had,

different than the others,

and he carried in his eyes

and on his arms

the tattoos

and scars

of being famous young,

he wore the face

of a star

but all I saw

was a poet

drowning

in someone else’s dreams

who wished only

to sink

into the quiet sea

or fade

into any painted wall of Brooklyn.

xx Atticus

@atticuspoetry

www.atticuspoetry.com