My uncle says I've always been obsessed with death. "Why do you care so much about how someone dies, much more as a child. Anyway..." The only memories I have of him a disembodied voice, A picture of us playing basketball, An old house and hotdogs I am not quite certain he bought. A man who smiled a bit too wide. I killed the other memories. Today, I daydream of where my "ego" will take me. About why so many men die of suicide When women attempt more. I wonder what a dead person looks like from 5 feet away. As I walk up to an open casket My aunt/therapist is dead. I regret not talking with her, She takes the last parts of my mind when she retreats to the earth. I remember telling my parents I feared who I would be if I stood by death in the pews. I think he is sitting in the car as we go home. Do lonely, cold men reject a hand Because it is cold? I wish I asked how To heal my inner child. Children should not have to worry about death.