the police radio is
screaming
like your mother-
(never has)
but i didn't
hear you in the
background

and when
i went to
see you
you wore a hat
to cover the
bullet wound
above your neck.

and you didn't move
even when i cried
(for you)
(because of you)

and i cried because
death
is supposed
to be beautiful

it is supposed
to be a
collaboration
of fungus
and blackness
that ends in
a teardrop.

death is not supposed to hurt (me)

it feels like
the first time
that i fell in love
because

when he left me

a part of me was scrambled into the pinpricks of the night
sky
(and i haven't been the same)

when he left me

i couldn't breathe

because he could knock the wind out of me
with his eyes (stareheavy)

and when you left me

i couldn't breathe

because you were my  
breath.

and because now

when i breathe
i think of you

and my throat betrays me,

like your trigger finger betrayed you.

friend, please,

when i sit above the circle of ash,
(that was you)

spin yourself around me until once again -

you may be (yourself) my lungs.