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Elementary hallways taught me never to trust,

before I knew what love was, I knew what it wasn’t.

Built armor from the anger, made a blade of my tongue,

learned to read every weakness while I was still young.

I could break you without ever raising a hand,

not proud of that gift—I was scared, understand.

They call it manipulation, I called it control,

’cause nobody could hurt me if they couldn’t get close.

By eighth grade, little hope finally showed its face,

Mom her new flame and the whole world changed.

He sold his dream truck just to buy us a home—

first man who made “family” feel more than a what I have known

Mom got sober, my sister brought light,

and for once I got to be just a kid for the night.

No weapons, no walls, no watching the door—

just a family becoming what I’d been praying for !

Then RollerCity, Riverside, 2001,

four wheels on the floor, felt like freedom had come.

Met my first real love—the one time can’t erase,

some people leave your life but never leave their place.

Wu-Tang through the speakers, lost friends in the smoke,

high school came and went, but the music gave me hope.

If Heaven has a soundtrack, let that old record spin—

take me back to the night when I still fit in.

There’s an empty passenger seat everywhere I go,

I still talk to you,—I just hope somehow you know.

, but I still drive the streets,

with a heart full of ghosts and a Hemi underneath.

’cause that white flag won’t stay,

when it finally falls, brother, I’m going all the way.

They thought pain would finish me—I made it incomplete.

I’m still here…

beside an empty passenger seat.

Late 2008, vanilla white 300,

“Ice Cream Paint Job” playing—you were right there with me.

Before I had the Hemi, we dreamed about that V8,

two broke brothers laughing like the whole world could wait.

It was us against everybody—Batman and Robin,

no ego, no judgment, just the truth when we talked.

You were the perfect friend; I don’t say that light,

you knew every dark room and still treated me right.

Now the passenger side stays painfully clean,

and every empty seat holds the places we’ve been.

Rise Against in my memory, those nights still alive—

some people stop breathing, but their love never dies.

Dad’s gone too, and I still carry that ache,

another piece of the man that the years couldn’t take.

Preston lost in a war with a world in his head,

schizophrenia and fentanyl leaving hope by a thread.

Little brother came home, then he walked out again,

and I keep acting strong like I don’t need my kin.

Truth is, I got so used to the ones that I love leaving,

I learned how to lose them before they were even gone.

So I became a monster—or that’s what I believed,

a mental weapon built from every wound underneath.

But monsters don’t question if their hearts became stone—

monsters don’t miss their friends when they’re driving alone.

Maybe I wasn’t evil, maybe I was a child

who learned survival first and carried it for miles.

Maybe every sharp edge w