How do you scrub crayon off the wall?

Lover brother my best friend, curved around my body your warmth is soothing, comfort incarnate and delicately wrong; a dream a fiend a friend, a sister but I missed her or didn't catch what she was throwing from another place her face in pictures missing her essence inexplicably free, you me and the divorcee were going to party and I wish I was there now but oh how I long for sleep, warm and deep, creeping upon me like a slug under rhaspberry bushes in the garden; tonight we grew a bonfire and the boys sprayed lighter fluid on it and I wonder under the crisp early winter stars if there is a god who loves my dad enough to let him live well for the rest of his years; my ears assaulted by stories of I don't even know what and I'm trying to understand, trying to remember if ever there was a time I did those things, did I party or do drugs or be excessive about anything, anything at all? Or was it really just my private writing on the wall?