the day of the dead is not all it seems

it’s like writing a letter to someone long gone

and seeing them stand up straight in old dreams

and just for the record

replaying those scenes I thought they forgot

or staying awake in a creepy old house

seeking atonement in the big void

you can always pay me when you get back

I will wait for you here for as long as it takes

while bluebells are piling up by the gates