His funeral (my way out)

I got the surprise call at 2am "He's gone" the voice said I hung up He wasn't gone, he was dead I could still hear his laughter The words that pierced the heart i gave him The holes that couldn't be patched He wasn't gone There was no breath left In his lungs The life he breathed into me still existed The scars, art he made of the canvas of my soul Maybe he was gone I wouldn't see those hazel coffee eyes of his That uneven skin texture that I absolutely adored He wasn't perfect but he was Van Gogh's starry night Maybe He was gone Having had taken my peace with him when... When he made a necklace with nylon rope The chandelier he mimicked Produced the light that helped me move on