most teenage girls were busy spilling themselves into new clothing,
but not me. each day i was busy trying to keep you from running away.

+

my sober voice would crack each time
the ground beneath your feet shook.
i remember
                    i never found you the mo[u]rning after
                     and had to wash the bed sheets twice
                      to get rid of your scent, but it’s still
                       coming back each night. i feel like my heart
                        stopped beating, like yours has.   

+

“do you believe in god?”
“of course, don’t you?”
“not anymore.”

i asked why and you said,
“if he was real, the world wouldn’t be this horrible. think about it.”
i did and for a second i believed you.

+

you met god when you finally stopped waiting –
when you finally stopped praying –
when you finally gave up.

                 and that was probably when you needed him most.

tonight you lay dying beneath the street lights on
the cold cement sidewalk.
tomorrow sunglasses will hide my bloodshot eyes.

+

we found you with the words
“god said jump”
etched into your pale wrists.