As the water ran down the windowpane
It drew silhouettes of your face in blurry streams
Each drop racing the other, till they were just lines
Of precipitation pooling at the bottom.

I can feel the rope pressing against the skin
of my neck, tightening. It hangs like the noose
we once found in my neighbor's yard.
I wonder if they know their yard is my designated
lynching spot, stringing up memories to die.

I like crying so hard I can't breathe,
when the tears and screams catch
in the back of my throat, I don't stop,
hoping I might choke on them and suffocate,
saving my pillow the trouble, and the government
the issue of typing something other than
'Natural Causes' on the death certificate.