Foolishly dreaming of changing
The way you think of me.
I wish you weren’t attracted to me
Truly.
I wish you didn’t use my wish
Against me.

No wish of any will is taken
Out of context than my own;
This is precisely why
I didn’t donate my body to science.

My sound melts
Into…
May I get a little peace, please?
(I’ve been killed more times than I can count.)

Notice I can’t say “can”
Because I know I can’t without your permission
And every decision
Is not a decision
Without your approval.

But that’s okay. I’m lying in a grave; you’re lying to yourself.
It’s over but you still expect me
To shout your name
Or even to
Wink,
Blink—
I need a drink
For you still think—oh, my.

At least you promised me a skylight
And if I could see, I’m sure I’d enjoy it.

The floor slams me shut and you are my ceiling
Competing with it, that horizontal door
And forcing it to creak.
It does, but no one helps me.
Why should they? I’m dead.
And nobody likes to visit graves
Anyway.

Not even…you.
I turn and there you go
Someone took your shovel and pounded in dirt
And now I can’t see my skylight,
The same one you promised me
Is irrelevant history.

You have left me here, dear; why have you left?
The stillness once was placid. Now bound-gagged words erode me
Until the crisp of me spins creamy
Into a jar of open books, memoirs,
Staining their pages
In peanut-butter swirls.

My voice vacates within stylish pitches
Of Earth I can no longer match.
What happened to
My perfect pitch?

And that singular note, that note that I wrote—
What will become of it?
Light a match, inhale its flames,
And watch that crumbled note take flight
Into a tranquil steam of fire—
Purest pearly steamed charcoal to
Black. Just black. The same as colorless.

Cancel your invitations.
Exclude my soul and feel it yearn.
This is the subtext behind my last words;
This is my solace.

Don’t buy my soul back.