don't speak of the days after  

It’s been 1,732 days.  

Do you remember  
At your funeral  
How I walked with my head down
Afraid if I lifted my eyes
One of your other girls  
Sitting in black  
Waiting in back,  
Observed my lack  
Of interest in them
That was at the forefront  
Of my mind
I hated them all.  
 
And the night we found you
I looked through your garbages
For used condoms….
why did i do that…..
We finally found your phone  
And charged it and it didn’t stop  
Dinging
Constantly ringing
Bringing my dismay
Further into  
The grave with you.  
 
The thoughts we have  
For the dead.  
They are as uncouth  
As the dead
 
Heroin slithered through your blood  
Its tongue eager for a taste  
Found your vulnerable heart  
And feasted.  
 
It was days before we found you
You never fathomed  
It would happen that way  
Did you?  
 
It’s what I think about  
Every day.
For 1,732 days
I’ve pieced together  
Nothing.