honey won’t read this

i don’t know enough big words
to write you a card
or a sophisticated gravestone
or a posthumous love song

all i know

is you are lying underground
not out cold in a bar
but in an urn like you’ve been blended

and no, it ain’t pretty
but i saw

and it’s too late

and you must sleep
while i snuggle up with miss insomnia

and wonder
where was i
your lover boy
when you decided to paint the highway
with yourself

-kismet. 15/5/2005

a/n: inspiration from the november play ‘yesterday my classmate died’. written for sine (chengkiat!).