I’m dying to know
if the static in your chest still spells my name
when the city lights go off like a siren through your veins.
I trace our ghost in ceiling cracks,
whisper questions to the smoke—
did the echo ever learn to breathe
or just fade like every promise we broke?
Your silence is a loaded room;
I keep knocking on the dark,
dying to know if you’re dying too
or already forgot the spark.