the morning after i killed myself.
the world kept revolving.
everyone around me kept living.
a few hearts broke,
but none stopped beating.
a few people called out of work
but the business stayed open
and the building still stood.
you grieved me
but your mother didn't,
your sister,
or any of the rest of your family.
i wonder what it would be like to have known them on a deeper level.
more than the surface of, "hello how are you today?" and keep walking.
the clocks kept ticking.
no artist made a song about me
you didn't pick up your guitar and think to write about me.
would you ask for the photos of us off my phone the morning after i left?
would you get something that reminded you of me tattooed on your skin?
no you wouldn't.
because us was just an imagination.
a fascination i was so obsessed with.
something i never even got to tell you soberly.
something i'll never know if you thought of that too.
how long until you stopped missing me?
how long until you let go of the regrets you had of not coming out to see me?
a morning?
maybe two?
the morning after i killed myself
everything still carried on as if nothing happened.
kinda like how i know it wouldn't affect you.
YOU ARE READING
looking through his glasses.
Poesíalove is a roller coaster of emotions. stay for the ride. sometimes it's worth it.
