I’ve been cleaning, and I found an old flash drive with this poem on it. I kind of like it.
Death is a lousy boyfriend.
They told you not to get involved with him, but did you listen?
They said “He’ll take everything, leave you with nothing.”
But you were sure they didn’t see him the way you did,
The kindness in his eyes,
The soft forgetting of his kiss.
The infatuation is over now, and you want to get on with your life,
But he won’t move out. He sits at the table, picking food off your plate
And reads the newspaper over your shoulder, commenting on everything.
“Shut up,” you say. “Get out of my life.”
But he just smiles and calls you “Suicide Girl” in that soft voice of his.
“I never lied to you. You knew what I was.”
He tells you “You’ll want me again someday.”
Then he sits down in a corner, or a dark closet,
Or goes to live under your stairs where you never look.
And the craziest thing is that you’re a little glad to have him around.
He makes you feel safe.