My phone dings with familiarity of notification I fail to reach Failing to identify the messenger Thoughts all point to one thing My chest constricts with fear as a sharp inhale shakes my body It could be you This knowledge, this esoteric ideology about who you really are, limits my tounge. I can't speak I can't explain you to anyone because the classic Marvel villian is much too kind. Realization dawns on my face I then exhale- slowly, taking comfort in the truth that eases my fragile heart: death prevents all forms of communication-especially druken texts after midnight. We are drunk in our fears We are high in our passions
We still-cangetbacktogetherright? wrong! You are my best poetry Written in longhand Spoken all in one breathe But death Prevents Sending Text Messages And leaving voicemails And coming to my house And calling my mother And harrassing my sister And-well, moving on is hard when you, still want to move in.