I met him in a room full of hundreds of people
On New Year’s Eve in San Francisco
He said he felt like he had known me his whole life
He told me how he became a fireman
And how much he made a year
And how he melted his left ear off
In a fire one Monday, in March

One night we went to his house
On Magellan Lane
And we ate persimmons and white chocolate
As we sipped 7&7s
His house looked unlived in
He asked me to conduct a séance.
I asked him who he was trying to reach
And he said

He thought I was a witch
Trying to bring him to the dark side
His heart, so burned, so consumed
From the flames of his life

He paraded me through
The fire station
And wanted to fuck
In the paramedics truck
Where all the dead bodies ride
Because he wanted to feel alive.
He asked me if I could raise the dead
But I said “No.”
I wasn’t a witch
Only a haunted ghost

He couldn’t hear his voice
He couldn’t hear his thoughts
He couldn’t feel his soul

Persimmons, white chocolate and 7&7s
He called me a witch
He wanted me to bring him back to life.
But I couldn’t.
And I thought, for a moment, I might be dead too

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