every wall of this house reminds me
of you-

reminds me that you are 591 miles
away, and i haven't heard from you
for seventeen days, and i am beginning
to worry

before you left we sat on the
couch and i asked you to promise
me you would stay alive.
when i held out my pinkie you couldn't
take it, and i always tried to make sure
you'd never see me cry, but i couldn't
stand the thought of living
around your ghost and i guess i just
                                                   lost it

there is a cold spot on the sofa and
i wonder if it is you

I was skipping on the concrete tight

rope when the wind swirled beneath my tipping
parapluie and I took flight into the loosely

hanging telephone wires and my voice suddenly
cracked through a handheld, reciting the lyrics of a favorite

symphony.

i started a collection inside of my ribcage
of birds that tickled me pink and red and
eventually blue. i lost enough blood to call
it a suicide from withholding harmless
animals so tightly in a confined space that
there was only one way out. after that mishap,
i started growing flowers and writing endless
metaphors about you, describing how you
make the stars dim out in embarrassment of
itself and how benign your disposition was.
you wonder why i watched the flowers wilt
and why i wanted the stars to ultimately turn
the sky into a deep asphalt color. you wonder
why i couldn't breathe when i tried my hardest
to be on your good side whenever you were at
the top of the food chain and i was below you.
looking at you made me see why i forgot to
take care of myself, because all of my focus
was trying to connect the dots of our friendship
and bring peace between us again. my words,
shaped into metaphors, turned into dust after
i burned every evidence of you. i am tired of
waking up in a hospital after a failed attempt
to completely forget you for good.