Piled up your clothes. Fold them on your bed. Spring is alive in Michigan. You are dead. Your favorite shirt. I held close to my face. Inhaled deep as I could manage. I found your scent alive but you are dead. Collapse onto to the floor. Clutching the fabric you once wore. Keep them in my bed. Hope to find sleep again. Cuz in my dreams you’re more than memories. Your voice. Your face. From the folds of my brain. Still the current running through my veins. I am alive even though you are dead.
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