i read somewhere that
if a writer falls in love with you,
you can't die
and i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
because i know you don't want to walk
on this earth anymore
i'm sorry if this stupid poem
made you immortal

like when you said
you felt
                so         h a p p y
you could
       die

it was always a skinny love
so fragile and i didn't even notice

completely ecstatic
blissful
deeply convinced that what i felt
in his arms was the feeling of being home
only to have him leave me
feeling even sadder
than before i met him