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Once I knew this boy 
who stopped knowing what to say,
so he took all of his problems
and left them on a page.

So I'd read between the lines
of different quotes every day.
Sometimes lyrics, or sometimes
Vonnegut, Neruda or Hemingway.

"So it goes" he'd quote,
and I never knew what to say
Instead I read the words he fed me
until they'd eaten me away.

He took all of his troubles
and stacked them on a shelf,
Too high for me too reach,
too far for me to help.

Now I'm reminded of him when
I hear a book or movie quote,
or when I see the delicate
lines and marks of music notes.

So I took all of his words
and kept them in my head.
All the work he'd written
and mostly everything he'd said.

I put him down on paper,
as he did with me,
And painted him on canvas
for everyone to see.

So to all, I show that I recall
his fading, far off face,
That only with paper we can
keep a person in one place.