Its like there’s the remains of this little dead kid inside of me and I have to go back into his head and figure out what killed him so I can move on

I feel like a grave robber rooting around in his bones.

I don’t even know if his thoughts are real. Even if they aren’t it’s what is inside of me and thats what coulors me making it count.

Its like I can’t get the grave stink out of me no matter how hard I try. Even as I am kneeling in his grave, holding him, cooing to him, as I cradle his neglected bones.