They called me today and told me you were dead
I smoked 2 packs
They said you were sad for awhile
I took a 2 hour shower till my flesh felt like it was burning off
They asked me if I needed someone to talk to
I talked to 2 people, your mother and myself
They held a funeral; open casket
I took 2 deep breaths when I looked at your cold and lifeless body
They asked if I still miss you
I threw 2 lamps as my answer
They told me id be okay eventually
I hope they were right
But it's been 2 years since you've been gone and nothing's gotten better
The showers are getting longer; I don't mind the pain in comparison to missing you
I remember your closed eyelids and blue veins prominent underneath the harsh lighting you layed under
I have not replaced the lamps
I have not replaced you