The week you
died
I ate a
package
of bear claws
of gooey,
cinnamon
almond
pastries

and you couldn't breathe
and you couldn't speak
and you couldn't see me
eating alone
in the dark

Dying isn't romantic
no wings
no music
no angels and
feeling of peace

it's sitting alone
in the dark
your back sweating
eating a dozen donuts.