he sleeps in the earth - the soil smothered his body or did he choke the ground - this is here because it's too late - because we died - we died somewhere down a corridor you came out on a chariot from a big ass black door - did they put you in a janitor's tools room or what - that was no morgue - we died down a corridor in hospital on a gloomy summer night the first of september they'd put you in a big bag I have no idea how you were breathing in that man especially with all that gauze in your mouth I could've choked my guts out I have a really bad gag reflex sometimes you should remember how often I vomited when I was younger it's better now I vomit in other ways - we died down a corridor it was quite the scene you couldn't even blink your divorced parents gawking at your yellowing face and me in the back with your brother and uncle and some other guy and my dad and when they zipped that bag up again they wheeled you out and mum - mum - our mum - the only person we shared there - mum - mum wanted to be the bag - mum wanted to be the gauze - mum wanted to be your wounds - mum wanted to be your broken ribs - your injured lung - all the blood you lost and took - she wanted to keep your eyeballs - I thought it was weird - but she wanted to keep your eyeballs and your feet and your pair of hands and that nose you almost gave away for a bucket when you were six or four years old because the bucket obviously didn't have a nose - she wanted to keep all of you - I think we could've figured a way to open your eyes again - maybe pulled some paranormal shit and made you stephen hawking 2.0 - I know it's hard to swallow but tomorrow you'll feel better - but we died - we died on a gloomy summer night it was suffocating was it the heat or was it you - was it the heat or was it your bullets - was it the heat or was it you - now I sometimes wonder was it the heat or was it you - did you kill me or did we die together - we died outside the morgue on a gloomy summer night the first of september it was half eight when mum got the call - we died down a corridor - you in a bag - us by your feet - I can't tell the time anymore - motion sickness by phoebe bridgers playing - that guitar kick provokes a line or two or a word or a phrase or maybe a preposition engaged to a person or a feeling - whatever - call it what you might see it as - call it by your name - call me by your name - your name makes more sense right now anyway - a number of letters curved in the corner - sun-shy, rain-lively, spring-scented, night-mute - a few hundred bad ideas queueing, singulars/singles, dog-shit in pairs - fewer and fewer words to begin with.. I can write several ends for a singular evening though - half eight - you can pick the body up - you can take the baby with you - we don't invest in nurturing neonates and preserving the dead here - the story of one life - now I'm stunned - I'm barely awake - I just don't think I'll ever get over you - a paralysing silence waits at the end of this line - keep pushing it with a few more feelings - a couple bucket of tears rusting the edges - I wonder how we die - you never said anything - were you always in farewells - me in an unprecedented amount of hope I could be greedy - in isolation I stand no longer narcissistic - just miserably existential - you just cut the line to say what the fuck are you talking about at this ungodly hour you fucking idiot? - I stammer - I wonder if you really died - sometimes I wait your call - sometimes I toy with your name thinking you're playing around - it could be just another heavy netflix show lifted from my soul with a stupid pinch to the ESC in the corner - many songs lost their meaning - I forget what I like sometimes - I haven't written in ages - I have no idea what I'm doing - everything strangely drowns in you and disappears with your passing - what the fuck about our book huh what the fuck about fish beyond gills that explores fish beyond fish anatomy and physiology - what the fuck about being cleopatra - what the fuck about saving tanzania and having a statue there - what the fuck about looking out for you - what the fuck about driving back home with you - what the fuck about me - what the fuck about all these dreams - all these dreams - all these m o t h e r f u c k i n g d d d r e a m s - d r e a m s - m y dreams - m y f u c k i n g d r e a m s - what the fuck about you now - what the fuck are you now - where the fuck are you now - why won't you fucking pick up now - where the fuck are you - you fucking prick I love you - you fucking prick I fucking love you - you fucking piece of shit I never said it to you - you fucking asshole - out of all the people who could've fucking done this you do this - yeah you fucking disappear for days then leave fucking existence cos what the hell let's play games - let's toy around with my fucking feelings let's fucking toy with people's heads let's fucking destroy people let's fucking make mum crawl into bed hoping to wake up next to you in an earthbed let's fuck her dreams up with monstrosities let's fuck my sleep up with mum's screaming and your fucking funeral repeated in sixty thousand fucking parallel universes in my fucking head - you said let's give away all my fucking grey t-shirts and stupid jeans and the shoes I never wore let's kill my fucking bird cos it won't eat anything if I don't chew it and I'm dead now so what the hell let's leave my fish to each other it's time they look out for one another a hundred fucking fish to say the least oh they all thank you oh they all thank you oh they all thank you very very much - you never made promises you always straight out said no if it wouldn't happen and we thought that was alright - you see we didn't see you dying out of nowhere - I didn't know you were gonna hug me the last time I saw you - and hey do ask nana if she has an idea why the fuck do I stop seeing people who are going to die for weeks before they leave like does it cut on the depression or does it add in effect on the dwelling am I really supposed to feel guilty can we avoid the cliches during the deaths of the people I like we can sincerely keep the cliches to the other people I don't want no cliches because I don't like cliches there are no cliches in my life - I know you guys didn't die - mum saw you together in a dream the other day in a room probably watching t.v. and I guess you guys should be together now in a much calmer environment so you should be okay - I know you're both listening in now so let's take a break and listen to intolewd an evocative and pathetic pop ballad by the dear twenty something british heartthrob matt maltese - we'll be back
