Michaels Body

Written by: Gina Young

This is an accent to your dreams,
to travel simply alone
through a montage of keeping hands.
All these machines,
they wont keep you alive for long...
And me,
I want to be the crime scene tape that never held you together.
No, Im not laughing.
We have been hurt so deeply
that these words dont really exist.
All these smoke bubbles burst
against the insides of my eyelids
and your stone cold skin is serious.
A gilded body, of truth (of fiction).
This type of death is dangerous;
youre lifted from my embrace.

So now you have died.
I go down to the river for awhile,
Ill talk to you here in the wind for awhile.
And I wont remember the regret and
I wont think of how you never needed to be.
But you are and I feel and it is and they can.
This is an emptiness unparalleled.
When the gossip on a Saturday night is
the burial of your heart,
it wont matter that the suns about to shine again.
Just dont say goodbye.

(Ghost) Stay and hold me,
I get fevers when you come around and 
I believe in the arms that hold me tight.

I will never wash away the chalk outline
of your presence on my spirit.
And I will witness the aftermath.
I carry the photo and I remember.