Crushed Between the Distanes

I died yesterday

Like a black suit case
left behind, as you boarded a departing train
leaving, letting the dust off the tracks
glaze my standing corpse.

Suitcases are not a topic of conversation;
they all smell of death and decay.

Yesterday

I was left behind
and got crushed between the distances.

Don’t talk to me of suitcases.

I died yesterday,
and now, I wonder to myself:
how will I manage to bury all my dreams, and
fit them in the grave with me?

I’ve been dead
since you left

yesterday.