Take Nothing But Memories

His voice had the strangely broken timbre of a child, Of too many souls, wandering lost in his throat Too many hands grasping onto his for help- I knew we couldn't last. He had psychedelically tinted neurons Well concealed within a brave countenance of smiling canvas He had a magnetic core, of hot iron and paper mache He slung words together like magic hash I'm still haunted, in love with all the words; There are thousands of phrases to fall for, Before the world closes up shop forever- But today, I wish for him only peace.