i’m scared to think that one day you will be ashes
my archangel, my angsty hero
ashes cannot muster the sound of your voice
or the grace of your fingers

but perhaps you’ll bloom wild hollyhocks in summer
or join the sand that rushes against the strain of the ocean,
and maybe when my spirit touches the sky i’ll feel you
in the pink of the horizon and the faint dusting of stars at sunrise

right now you are heaving through the mess of life
and i am tripping about the convolution of myself

you are loved, you are loved, you are loved

and i guess it says a lot when i worry more about your ashes than my own dreams of death
everything falls apart but maybe in the chaos of this world we will fall apart together