Unpacking

I’ve unpacked your burden, my suitcase is empty.
I’ve folded you up nicely, and laid you into my drawers.
You once had a hold on me, a fist against my throat. But I’ve found peace in your death and I’ve finally grown.
An endeavor of years, yet minutes for you, has quietly ended, and willfully too.
I’ve laid you to rest in the grave that you dug, and threw in my roses as one final hug.
Our time on earth is over, our illicit eternity.
I wrote of you like poetry, lines of a helpless romantic fallen into tragedy.
I will no longer write, of the boy that I knew, for your existence has ended, and so has this too.