Preemptive Mourning

You’re carving your own tombstone

and digging your own grave

Sending out postcards from Hades

with quotes from your eulogy

the one you write with each

last breath that you breathe

and I’m walking on eggshells

with tear soaked shoulders

and arms full of fractures from the weight

trying to move forward

while you’re floating down the Styx

as if it’s some kind of tide pool

where discontent can happily hide.

I’m buying flowers

to lay on your coffin

where all of your heart now resides

it’s a strange paradox

planning for my future

with a ghost who thinks he’s alive