How do you know the deceased

well here’s the thing

they linger

float

the dark smoke

curls around us

we are each made of dead people

the fearlessness of your five year old self

that best friend until fifth grade

rember how naive you were when you blew 11 candles?

you know that mind too

but

at what point do you pronounce something dead?

not breathing, sure

but what about when suddenly you look back

and the present is no longer the past

and your only hope

is your meager hold

into your past self

you already know

you cant bring back