Andre, Andre always smiles.
He covers something with those smiles.
He laughs, he jokes, he exaggerates,
makes us all laugh at his awkward state.
We think he knows what it is he means
when he whispers about his dreams,
even with his eye's deep hollows
his dose of society he just swallows.
What is it, Andre, that makes you grin?
Is it some joke you don't let us in?
Or perhaps is it something missing
a friend, a foe, someone listening?
Looking down when not asleep,
always dazed whenever you meet,
a willing being with much to share,
your stumbling self makes you not dare.
The day shut out, himself locked away,
he wonders what the kids will say,
when he misses school tomorrow,
a bullet healing all his sorrow.
His death, so quiet, shook us all the same.
I wonder at his mental state;
so calm, so rigid, so nonchalant
His joyless levity the most frightening taunt.
Sleep now Andre, I cant say I'll miss you,
your pointless dialogue was to me an issue.
Now that your gone its been quiet for a while,
I'm still hoping that in death you will smile.
