september’s penmanship

in september i learnt
that the dead lives
among the living but not all

when i was fifteen i once played
the ouija board
i said goodbye but
the spirit never left

my mother never understood my
incessant insomnia
she never saw the dreams
of strangers in my bed

she does not hear the voices
of people long gone
yearning to be heard
once more

it is said that in order
to live
you must first learn the
meaning of death

every night i made my bed out of
suicide notes and
broken bones and
overdosed cough mixtures

i once sat on the windowsill
a friend i once called a friend
helped me tight
while i cried

a love i cannot love told me
not to wake up and
it would be too late by then

this is what i learnt in september
that some of us die in the
suffocation of the
overnight casket

and if i forget to come home
one night
i hope you read the signs clearly
this time



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