questioning the moon

it was a premature morning, the kind of cancer
that delighted in the slow decay of dreams as the
misfit sun resembled a lollipop chainsaw zombie
in the milieu of a vindictive horizon

your origami doll corpse fell from my ripped paper sky
with paper-clips for eyes and poetry duct taped
onto your november smile and as you began
to sing a rhapsody about a white trash
beautiful romance, i held my breath
long enough just to listen to
your vintage lullaby

but there were times when i was scared to turn
the radio on because the 4AM static might
scream your name- similar to a moonshadow
requiem for dead rosemary flowers

and like the butterfly tattoo perched on my lower back,
the white noise reflected polaroid snapshots
of candid memories amidst the disjointed
beating of my heart as yesterday played
hopscotch within my chalkboard mind

because if only hearts beat at the right side
then i wouldn't be so broken and if death
keeps on repeating itself then it's just an
endless cycle of lost souls not meant

if words will become the death of me
then i'd willingly kill myself just to tell you
i loved you and if tragedies were meant to
be poetic then i wouldn't have to bleed
just to know if i'm still alive


but if i forget you, would you still remember me?