I died.
Mommy, I died and I can’t tell you I did.
I can’t tell you that I’m sitting on the other side crying
because I’ve hurt you more than I ever knew I possibly could
I couldn’t sleep before,
knowing my heartbeats were numbered
so I counted them.

Sixty beats a minute, fourteen-hundred something minutes a day, thirty days for six months
60 times 1400 times 30 times 6.
I did the arithmetic so I could have one more math test to cheat on.
I ran laps and hyperventilated and did every upbeat thing I could think of to upend my pulse so
I could lie to myself.
140 times 1400 times 30 times 6.  
It’s twice as big.

I don’t know if I can sleep now, and I didn’t tell you, mommy.
cause I didn’t want you to lose sleep then,
and I hate you’re losing sleep now.

my aching heart
wishes
that may the bruises
and all the cuts
be worthy
just to see you
happy
with someone else
to build you better
for someone else
and not me.

because even when you left
i kept searching for you
tried finding solace
in another's pair of lips
but nothing was ever the same
and i knew that
heaven wasnt a place on earth
but it was a home
that i shouldn't have
mistaken for a house
with you.