The last 3 letters of the spring

I must find 
comfort 
in the slow mornings, or something as simple as toast 
‘cause what's left. When my twisted skin hits you like bricks -
You must protect your walls, or worse
You must prove your worth to invisible kings
‘cause what's left. When it's empty in the room -
once full of clothes, coffee mugs left dirty, and little half friendships

I could have done it sleepless and barely breathing 
abandoning the god of my own in the name of OURS
In the midst of oblivion - oversized hoodies for men 
hiding all the truthful jokes about life, death, and leaving

If I were to be gone, or worse
If I were to be honest, and stay
Would you be wearing my smell on your clothes? 
Would you look for comfort in ghosts?