My dad doesn't understand visiting graves.
He says when you're dead you're dead.
That's when I realized death switched from a fear to a feeling.
He was always good at turning problems into cadavers
And painting on a fake smile with a chest cavity full of black matter.

I never did cry when my dog died
I put the constant in numb.
And sometimes I sit in that parking lot and I chain myself to my memories in protest
If you want to move past this you're gonna have to go through me.
I let the pavement swallow me whole
And think about what would've happened if she made it inside.

I want to tell you about when it was that I stopped sitting in doctors chairs and why my nightmares have teeth.
How I wish you would treat me like a tombstone
About how I want to be buried in the park across the street from my house.
How there is nothing beautiful 
about names that read like funerals.

I wonder why some houses keep lights on in every window
As if they're waiting for someone to come home.
That never will.
And if there is a light that never goes out
Why does the darkness come creeping back in every chance it gets?
And when are you coming home?