the voice of a dead boy waits for me on my phone, and im too afraid to listen to the accusations i know i'll hear so i let it sit and rot like he will. he spent last night on a cold metal slab, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. he follows me around school he smells like flowers and rotting flesh. i try so hard to get his voice out of my head. he screams at me and asks why i didnt pick up the phone. twenty seven missed calls twenty seven voicemails waiting for me to find the courage to face the truth.