back to me

You sing an ode to death 

in which you will never sleep. 

You’re restless,

and you feel the heat

of your heart 

on the planes of your chest  

and the rocket ribs inside 

that you will never see. 

I see your confusion 

whisking around your neck, 

the hair standing on end  

because you’re scared of 

what may sprout from 

your skull 

and what others 

may say about it. 

I feel it when you have 

new scars, 

feel the days that will never be ours: 

the ghost of your memoir. 

Every step is tentative, 

Every breath a torture you don’t  

even have to suffer, 

and I don’t mean for 

you to give in to the songs 

in your head. 

You turn around 

and run away 

back to me.  

Please –

keep running back to me.