Brother Dearest

You told me to go kill myself
casually and without hesitation
as if you were telling me to go make you breakfast.
you spat the words and they stuck.
Stuck to my face
and my arms
and my neck.
I throw my hopes and wishes out the two-story window...
except for one I hold to me close:
a hope that one day the fires of hell
will warm your cold, little heart.