If you dust the car for prints,
you’ll find mine,
you’ll see it was me,
who drove the car into the ravine,
and set it on fire.
That I raped myself in the backseat,
to make sure I was still there,
that I spoke to myself in the frontseat,
to make sure I could still hear.
Even though my ribs still moved,
I needed proof of life,
and you are that reassurance.
The body you found tonight
was nothing but a corpse; a ship,
and its captain had already set sail without it,
as a boy, hopping from one vessel to the next,
abandoning a lake for the ocean.