He's Dead

She Said.

Words crawling out like spiders from their hiding place.

He's Dead, she said.

Her tongue swelling, filling up her mouth.

She shouldn't be able to speak, but

He's Dead, she says.

Throat catches her exhale.

Handfuls, then armloads, then crate-tons of air in her lungs, unable to escape.

She chokes on the dioxide- finally her lungs give out.

Her chest relaxes to the rhythm.

The song is sullen.

He's Dead, she sings.

Lyrics so grim, her eyes heat up with promises of tears.

The wind slowly blows through the open window, creating a sound of its own.

He's Dead, she hears.

The world knows now.

The stars that watched him bleed.

The ground he lays under.

The wind that carried his last breath.

In reassurance, in repetition, in memory;

He's Dead, she says.