and that’s the thing
I remember you with a fondness
that grief can’t bury any deeper
to let you go,
to bury you with that grief
is a suffering that i can’t fathom—
one that i don’t wish to experience.
how do i honor your death
when you’re still around?
how do i long for your life
while mine is suspended in thin air.
it’s hard to breathe
through cries of your rejection,
the absence of your presence,
sometimes i get mad.
you’re the demon.
but here i live my life
as a ghost…
to which of us
goes the better hell?
