Love Son

Jason Allen Smith
11 August 1979- 13 May 2009

“If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.”
-The Crow

The News:
http://newsblog.projo.com/2009/05/providence-man-29.html

Update 3-August-2009:

It’s almost his birthday. It still hurts a whole lot, like every time I think I’ve truly healed, I feel his frozen stone lips on mine and I’m ripped right open again.=(

26-September-2009

you get reminded by every little thing and it’s heavy and songs play and you cry and colours make it worse and smells and pictures resurrect the pin needle pierce into this vicarious voodoo, baby doll, scribbled my crayola heart– waxy melting stop motion feel for affliction. burberry cologne your old mobile phone, bikes, ink, street names, sega games. why’d you cheat me of yourself cousin? was i not the purest love? if it wasn’t grade A, you still knew my devotion. you left and now you don’t have me, was that destiny? that fine day in may–labeled 13–lucky. fuck it. the irony is null in contrast to the reality that hurts so much i cant bother with bullshit like superstition and minute details on that who financed what and who last saw you shit. fuck it. you signed the deed to your demise. and she cried and he cried and we all cried. but in the end you died. that’s it, cousin. you died. i’d like to lie. but your girls are fatherless. and i am cousinless. and your mother is sonless, loveless, addicted. to not just your memory but to you in every sense or your self. her suffering is what built the taj mahal. if she could she would. she can’t let you go. and neither can i. our grief extends past earth bounds, grips the sky, tears at the moon and extinguishes starlight. sometimes i just don’t want anyone to enjoy the night. cause if im hurting, then they should be too. they should help me mourn and drape the world in black and suffer. how selfish. but my pain is like a plague- spreading without bias or sympathy except for itself. O cousin, i am the rat infected! will i attack 1/3 of providence’s population? miserable wretch, what have i become? what have i done? o cousin, open your grave and let me lie with you! i am not fit for a world you do not inhabit. untie these life strings and let me drop down, rag doll dead, beside you. i want to be over. over it. simply. deported. from this land. of the living. i am only an alien here. fuck. you wouldn’t like this. i don’t like this. it’s just hard to keep the dark out. sorry. i will rethink.

17-December-2009
Tonight I walked alone and searched somewhere in the atmosphere for your hand to protect but I could find nothing. And when I thought I felt something grip my fingers, I spun to find your living corpse around every corner and your stone body and cold pale lips painting them selves harsh and nightmarishly abstract in my corneas. And that chest of yours, the horror of that chest of yours. Ripped in a jagged Y from the autopsy, the residual explosion of your heart kept bursting and raining bloody beating veins and arteries just footsteps behind me round every turn and outlook, there you stood, staring, staring. You must have beckoned.

23-December-2009
Won’t you end this charade, quit playing dead, call back in the corridors of unbelievable hurt. Jay, I see your girls, but all I see in them is you. My love for you is a vile of distilled amaranth. My love for you is kept in my skeletal heart, an everlasting shrine to your soul and my wishing.