sometimes the thunder blows through the empty windows of a house simply to remind itself of people inside it that threw 16th birthday parties and watched the birth of their own crumbling aching bones that can't ever seem to catch a break from all the tests and designer dresses and drugs that they put on to impress the one person who they think makes the feel most alive and special when you thought you were going to collapse like an old star in the universe and take everything in their own little universe with them like that old creaking house in the rain

I could not find the word for phobia of commitment- but I'm sure it would resonate so well within you much like the ideas and philosophies of the sunrise in the golden hours hitting the trees as they whisper and call to the very fiber of your being so instead I titled this the fear of being alone as it reverberates against me like the ideas of gods, morality, and the cosmos and speaks and moves myself as the trees do you

I still think about the things
you showed me in your apartment
with such excitement as a child
and my inherent fondness towards you

I still think about how you instabilities and
the t i c king ideas that kept you awake and bustling
until your eyes forced your body to
shut down

I still think about the golden sunrise
and sky on the day the police
found your mind scattered across an empty
kitchen floor

I still think about and wonder what would of happened if my mom had picked up your phone call at three in the morning

I still think about your empty house,
your empty head
you're empty