zero

c.

to quinn,
i have collected all of the letters
you wrote to me but never allowed
for my eyes to scan across and spread
them out along the lost beach.

the beach where your body
lay helplessly―out of breath
and out of love. they said that
the colors blurred through your eyes
and your body closed down
the jail doors. that you secretly
opened up the gates to your soul,
without telling anyone, and let in
demons.

pills. alcohol. beauty.

they’re all demons.

they told me you stole
money. for surgery―to feel
pretty. never got the chance
to go through with it.

they told me you wrote
these letters. the last ones
―barely legible. i took each
and every one of them and folded
them into a boat.

i folded you into creases and then, as
the sun was setting, i set the fleet to
sail.

shattered into ninety-nine pieces,
i watched you swim―in a world of
blue and beauty―as i sat here and
watched you sink.

—oliver

p.s. the ocean is beautiful.