don’t you go,
phantom boy
i’m still not done
painting your portrait
to hang in my walls
long after the house rots,
long after i’ve passed away.
they said to let you go
for you’ve already found
your bluest heaven
where you can sleep with
fleecy floral angels,
but i don’t think i could
let you go that easily.
i want to capture you,
your ethereal silhouettes,
your faded outlines,
your scars and scepticisms,
your details and blurs,
and your coalescing heart.
because i still have mine,
phantom boy
and it beats angrily—
refusing to let me rest
until every colour, linework,
and careful brushstroke
is immaculate and
tastes tangibly of you.
i know you wish to leave soon,
phantom boy…
but won’t you please stay
and spare me just
one last masterpiece?