For a while you went away but then you came back
with the smell of summer air and chips of wood
covered in rot
It made this place worthwhile but now I wonder
just to spite me what part of you
you'd cut off
I'd hold my head high but the weight you are pulls my neck down like
cinder blocks and red-brown bricks
and little things like string
And on your side of the Earth are you angry?
Are you doing well?
But if I got the chance to ask
I think we both know
I wouldn't
