Perfect Victim
The front step of your parents house has worn into a slope,
and you childhood dog is never coming home,
but I'm clawing at your carcuss,
howling at your dad.
The chain on her necklace is worn down now,
your grandmothers picture in the fake gold locket.
Your copy of the bell jar from 1990 ontop of your noah kahan hoodie,
desperate to drown when youre in ankle deep waters,
but I'll dissect you anyway.
Patched up socks in your new nike shoes.
You're no Laura Palmer.
Placing every brick in this haunted house and then claiming youre scared of ghosts.
you said I looked like him.
I could wash you clean of all of this,
I'd leave you a fresh set of bones,
but im too fond of the scar on your wrist from when I told you not to jump,
the bump on your finger from refusing to type up our letters,
and all of the cancer inside of your lungs.
There won't be a headstone,
just a hole i keep digging.
I have his eyes,
cold and hollow,
a dip into a november river.
My teeth are too sharp for you now,
I will rip you up,
placing your pieces in your mothers arms,
climbing that mountain again.