Hey, I know it’s been years--five, to be exact

and my mom says that if I keep dancing with corpses

I’ll end up smelling like them and

I know that September already passed

like a shiver that spreads through your entire body but

I forgot to tell you that I haven’t seen a leaf change color

since that night we sat under the stars

and promised each other we were never going to supernova.

Hey, I know you didn’t mean to fade like a sunset into night but

your dad said you left a note stuffed into the

empty pill bottle on the floor

your dad said you only wrote my name once

and it was followed by the words, “I’m sorry”

your dad told em that your brother wasn’t eating and

he didn’t know what to do

your dad was a practicing psychiatrist and

he didn’t know what to do

your brother was seven.

Hey, I know they ripped your moon out of the sky

and you felt like you had nothing to howl at but

you being dead doesn’t fix the heavens.

Hey, I know your intentions were good but

you left me to patch up the hole and

I ended up getting sucked into it.

Hey, I know I have no right to be angry but

sometimes I feel like my body is covered in gasoline

and I’m itching to touch the sun.

Hey, I don’t know what you were thinking.