i thought a lot how you said,
"go die
and i won't go
to your funeral"
and how it doesn't even matter
but i always had this vision
of you standing over my casket
sobbing uncontrollably
gross, heavy, unable to breathe sobbing
as you hold my cold, dead body
wishing for me to be alive once more
wishing to see my eyes you always called coffee-colored, open
now i know
that that will only ever
remain a vision
never a reality
you said,
"go die"
and i know that you meant it