A selfish part of me wants you
to die, a quick and painless
death, maybe in a car crash.
I want you to die
so your ghost will haunt me
because you and I have unfinished business
because you and I bought coffee together
last week, and I was planning to pay you back
with a trip to Waffle House next weekend.
I want your restless spirit
to keep my restless remains company
to inhabit me and spread through every cell
like my bags fill your room and trail
socks across the floor each weekend.

I want your specter
to tenant the space in my head
occupied with worry
when you aren't next to me
and fill it with dim-witted quips
about banging my mom.
I don't want to dread the moment
I lay down in my bed alone anymore.

As I lay awake at night,
I'm longing for you
to plague my being like a poltergeist
perpetually banging and clanging and smashing
everything in my room
because at least then I'll know
you're still here.