coffee and words and sylvia.

they are all dead,
i buried them
with my corpse.

in a same hole.

with a same nameless headstone,
but only my skull
would remain.
and someday someone would find
the teeth i left and think;
"she wanted storms."

actually i am one.
with the eye named sylvia,
but coffee makes her blind,
like a love.

"love is a verb,"
you said.

keep coughing up
butterflies;
i only have
dead ones.

resurrection out of date.

funny ideas.
betrayed reality.
i made you up inside my head.