how can a phone become the most personal thing we own
the object through which you could be reached
the object that still works but fails now
without you
your hands barely able to hold it
as you died every day
but now you did
you sent a collective message to the population of your worlds
and didn’t wait for the replies
they’re unread
you will just go now
there’s nothing more to say
because nothing has ever been said
and everything is so painful inside of me
the lack of words, of knowledgeability
this devastating distance
that has never changed
I don’t know who my father was
this love sits heavily within me
this sadness won’t leave, won’t speak
you just stare at me and suffer and you want to stay
and wither and not be alone
but I need you to speak
I need you to move in interpretable ways
you need to let me come closer
you can’t be foreign in my own body
I don’t know what life meant to you
this sickness gave you a new face
hundreds across your phone
and I look at you and death has ameliorated nothing
alleviated nothing
death has ransacked everything
the way it always was
without words
without comfort
neither of us belongs
and I feel so alone and discarded I want to scream
myself out into the world to become unseen
you let me go from the moment you held me
you let me go
why is this phone a more personal thing than me
why is there more of you in this object
than in me
give me something to keep
that doesn’t inflict so much speechless pain
you still hurt so much
and I can feel every single little thing
but I can’t find the origin, the source of the pulse
ongoing
where is it, why couldn’t you take care of it
Croque-Melpomene 