His name was Milo

something e u r t (backwards)

 

according to everyone i've ever met, i can only blame myself.

so those fingers, they were mine.
those bullets, they were mine.
oh and that rope, yeah, that was mine too.

and when i was brushing my hair and staring out the window
i was the first to see the ambulance rush down that street.
i was the first to the phone.
and your scent came strong then.
While i was inbetween dialing 3-6 and 4-8.
i sort of gasped.
like it was all a big f*****g joke.
but i didn't even have to turn to know
you weren't there.
my heart was chipping on the edge of
every second.
and you didn't answer your phone.
and you didn't asnwer your phone.

so when i dropped my line
and ran down the stairs
it didn't even occur to me
what i'd do when i got there.
The pavement rattled my bones
everytime i slapped my foot into it while
sprinting.
it was so f*****g hot.
the sun was melting into the boiling cedar.

i didn't knock.
i didn't even stop.
your dad caught me by the waist.
my sweat and your dad's sweat on his
green tshirt.
i don't think i even screamed,
i just tried to run up those stairs to your room.
I just tried to get to you
and breathe into you.
it was all
you
you
you.

Since then my life has been nothing
but a collection of boys that have
been called "you".
in some form or another
they have all killed themselves.
probably in a room similar to yours,
if only in their head,
and even if they're not dead,
to me they arn't alive anymore.

i'm not going to make anymore predictions.
the end is for those who make it.