The Boy with Pink Hair

I have a picture on my Math binder,

And to me, it's always a reminder

That life is short, it'll end soon.

Enjoy simple pleasures, like hugs and the full moon.

It's a photo of a boy, turning seventeen.

Though he wasn't, people called him a Queen.

He was being a rebel, his hair is bright pink.

He only dyed it that color to make people think.

Always very kind,

He stood up for others, speaking his mind.

He believed all should be treated fair,

When he was criticized, he didn't care.

Five years later, his fiancée was pregnant, she'd cheated,

He went home, completely defeated.

Paired with his heart condition, the pills were too much.

When his father found him the next morning, he was cold to the touch.

When I heard the news, I cried and cried,

He was my cousin; I couldn't believe he'd died.

My eyes still glisten, and it's been four years.

It's another reason I'll never do narcs, when pushed by peers.

I have a picture on my Math binder,

And to me, it's always a reminder

That life is short, we're mortal man,

So always, forever, love while you can.