regards,

and to you i leave nothing except the taste of my absence on your tongue like iron and moths i hope it burns i hope it feels like a cathedral collapsing inside your chest because what else am i good for except ruin

my hands smell like paper and rain and there are nights i think my body was just a letter folded wrong sealed without an address returned to sender left unopened in some damp drawer but i kept breathing and i don’t know why i kept breathing and i don’t know why

the ceiling fan turns and turns and i wonder if it remembers me if it will grieve when the walls forget the sound of my voice if the dust gathering on its blades will shape itself into my name the way mold writes elegies in abandoned houses

i never asked to be forgiven i never asked to be loved i only asked to be remembered and i already know i won’t be not really not in the way that matters not in the marrow of anyone not in the soft hours when a name can split the skull like a church bell

sometimes i imagine my bones glowing faintly in the dirt like failed stars and i tell myself that counts as legacy a brief light a mistake in the dark

but you and i both know this is not enough