Hey it's me. Can we talk?
It's just the the full moon is rising right now
on the last month of this year
and I am feeling the way you used to press on
me
the existential dread of
everything existing since
I last heard your voice
is yanking me under
six feet of soil
and I know you
don't know how to swallow
when you hear my voice
I know it makes the heat rise to
the tip of your chest
and you ball your fists
but can I just hear you
one last time
tell me
that it will all be ok
can we pretend
that this year never happened
for one second?
Just one ******* second
I want to absorb the decent
life that once  
kept me glued together
once held the image of you
that wasn't just fractals
spewed with hate
distaste
bitter notes of
'I ******* hate you's'
It's me. I know
you forwarded the call
and I know she's home
there with you
while your new life
boils in the kettle
the steeping bags
of I once sat on the same counter
and tried to not die
from the heart break
I just want to pretend that  
one day
we'll be at a place where we can
silently lay beside each other
hands clasped so tight
and fade into
a sleepless night.

Anyway, I wish you well
and I'm sorry for all the times
I told you to go
to hell.