sitting reading the poetry
of the girl he loved when he died,
(it wasn't me or so she told me)
it's all revisionist history,
we make our own stories up
these days -
all i know is that he had
planned to call me the day
after he had died - it was
in the planner,
so it meant it was gold
i wish i had a dollar
for every time i feel this way,
lost & waking up after
having had a dream of him
(its all illusions - he has
better things to do there)
instead
ive got a headache
a bit of heartache, too
& i'm feeling
a little detatched from
the world.
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