He’s been gone
Not been the same since,
Sadness seems like home
Death seems lovelier than living

Wished I never woke,
In the ICU,
With life hooked on machines
Swam in his memories

Every other night I wake up,
If I can sleep,
Cold sweat and tears streaming
A wet coddled pillow

Popping pills like tic tacs
Smoking — a chimney
His voice’s been on loop;
Speaker blasting sadness

Is this what’d you call melancholy?
Or perhaps depression
In its glory
With my mind on a chopping board

The smell has lingered on,
Been told to move on
That easy, is it?
Faint traces — they’re still there