Sort of an emo poem here guys…maybe not…

Living and Dying in Notre Dame

Blue haze over closed green eyes,
pile of Tylenol on an impromptu ashtray.

Pot smoking: I had always been too afraid of the cops for some reason;
still, I saw your eyes closed on the dirty brown bed in frictionless flicker
of REM beat and

I drowned into cheap, black cloth.

I drowned into raw bedspring.

I drowned below a beacon of mute television commercial
and program and channel click.

And then,
as I breathed,
I saw you breathe faster,
said to a friend on the phone, “Death catches us, now.”
He said, “I know somethin's wrong,
but stop being so goddamned overdramatic.”

Then, I hung up
and waited to feel it
until I saw it:

Your hair over your pale cheeks.
Your chest heaving up&down
to the meter of life&death itself
in a white camisole.

Your face in the beige pillow that smelled like your menthols
when you left.
Your body next in time&space to mine.
Your subconscious cooing
like a broken gargoyle,
“Take your head out
of the oven, Honey;
I love you.”