We sat on the swings
The third swing hung, open air
Replacing the body that should be
There, drowning into the seat,

Your feet slice nothingness
As you desperately pump your legs
The chains of the swing gasp and
Moan for oil

We reach the highest point the swing
Will allow and jump
Landing with a thump on the woodchips.
After, we lifelessly dangle from the monkey
Bars, and it feels as if I just dry swallowed a pill

Because I know you
Are thinking about the casket
I know you hate how it’s black, when it should be
White. White is pure.
Sixteen is still a child.

I want to tell you it’s not your fault
You didn’t see the scars imprinted in her skin,
The smeared mascara along blood-shot eyes,
Her hand strangling a bottle of Jack
Or the full bottle of Lithium.

You’re thinking about opening
The green bathroom door, the one with
All our heights on it. But what ever you saw
You won’t say. Your lips
Frozen like I imagine your body
Did when your face turned as
Lifeless as Emma’s