She has questions for you. Questions she will never have the answers to Any time soon If ever at all. And its destroying the way she processes sanity The way coals do to paper. Why were you drinking up alcohol so quick that night? The way a match does with gasoline. You were not the kind To let the sediments of wine Flood the veins inside your flesh And dilute away control. The way a cigarette can take over a whole forest. Were you conscious when your car exploded? Were you released from awareness when the fire ate its way through to your heart And murdered you? Was it fast? Were you scared? Did you cry when you left your body and saw it was unrecognizable? You're no longer human You're no longer a hug, a laugh, a smile. And She hates it. She can't understand it. She despises the unfair, unintended abandonment. You're an empty bedroom You're a prom dress You're a photo on her wall. You're a contact in her phone With a disconnected line. You're an email With unread messages. How can she rest her mind about your death. When she's kept in the dark searching for answers. The way an open propane bottle searches for an igniting spark.