poem you

talk to your ghost

sleep with your clothes

i'll take whatever's left

in the waste of your death

whatever's left

of your death

i'll take whatever's left

in the waste

to ease missing you

and the stinging too

of seeing blue

poem you

come home

light's on

come home

light's on

cause i'm missing you

and it's stinging too

to see a blue

poem you

come home

the light's on