Gunpowdered

I remember those
stairwell passings with you,
neighbor.
Teeth buckled at the gums
and gunpowdered well.
You liked the gunpowder
and the thumping beats of it kept me awake at night.
Your lack of footsteps keeps me awake at night.
You were ghoststeppin’ the stairwell quiet,
vampire with the baggied friends
lost and angry at my doorstep
lookin’ for the thumping beats
you were a ghost.

I hope that when the gunpowder blew
your insides shrapneled with it to fade
into what you seemed so eager to escape.
I hope fixed fate has plans for you, neighbor,
‘cause otherwise the world’s at a loss
and you’ll become a story again,
like you were a story once.
I hope stories are swapped in prayers for you.
Who is praying for you, Aaron?

I need you to know that I am thinking of you.
I need you to know that though
your curled body lay in the refrigerated apartment
above me for three days,
you were not forgotten.
It’s just that you were always ghoststeppin’
the stairwell quiet,
and it was hard not to culture apathy.
It was hard not to stick to my rhythm and neglect.
I am praying for you, Aaron.