#splattered-ink

I would spend the first day afraid.

Crying.

I'd realize that in my hatred for my own life, I had forgotten my fear of death.

I would stare in the mirror and try to find something, anything worth leaving behind.

I would wonder, do I even deserve to be remembered?

I would spend the second day talking.

I would tell my best friend I love her, tell my boyfriend I love him.

I would tell my brother that his anger is only a weapon if he makes it one.

I'd tell my mom that I keep a pack of cigarettes in the cabinet for when she forgets to buy more, but that doesn't mean I approve of her smoking.

I'd tell my friend I'm sorry for saying he was annoying

I'd tell my sisters the reason my cakes are better than theirs is because I use less oil and more melted butter.

I'd spend the third day in bed

I'd wonder what death is like.

I'd think about the hospice nurses, who describe it beautifully

I'd think about what comes next

Id try to find god again, or any deities that never really listened to me before.

I'd question everything.

I'd spend the fourth day allocating my things.

My best friend would get my favorite squish mallow. My band totes. She would get what held me together like she did.

My boyfriend would get my poetry, my jack skellington squishmallow, he'd get my favorite book. He would get what kept me going, and every comfort he gave me.

My brother would get my posters, my tarot cards, my jewelry and my black nail polish, and my headphones too. He would get the little things I know he would think fondly of, the things that made me, me.

My sister would get the rest of my stuffed animals. She would look after them. She would get the parts of me I seldom share with others.

I would spend the fifth day writing.

Letters for the people I won't get to talk to again.

Apologies for those I've wronged

Forgiveness for those who hurt me

I would write pages on pages of things I didn't say out loud, address each one carefully. I'd burn some, mail others, tuck some into the shoebox in my closet, already filled with secrets.

The sixth day, I would stay out late.

I'd stare up at the sky, watch the clouds pass, watch the sun go down, and the brilliance of the stars like holes poked into the lid of a jar.

Maybe thats what they are. Windows of the light from another world, shining down on our little planet from the cosmos.

I would pick out my favorite stars.

Mira, Polaris, Vega.

I'd count the constellations and try to spot the planets one last time.

The seventh day, I would go somewhere quiet.

I'd send my last texts, post my last poems,

And I'd tremble with fear

Because I'm afraid of death.

Because in my haste to prepare everyone else, I'd forgotten that im just a scared little child

Id sit alone, in my quiet place, and realize that I'm not brave enough to die alone

Not brave enough at all.

I know this now

Because love would not drive you to the realm of the dead.

No, not love. Pride. Greed.

And you,

You would never have turned around.

You would have marched straight back home

Straight out of the depths of the underworld

And I would have followed, like a dog behind you.

And you knew that. Knew with every certainty that I would follow you anywhere you went.

You would only have gone, because you missed the way I fawned over you.

Missed my obsession

to create such a perfect being as you.

It's clear that you belong with the stars, yet here you are.

When you speak, magic falls from your lips,

as though you are speaking the language of the universe.

Then why do I hunger for your hands in mine?

Why do my lips yearn to be met with yours?

Why does my heart ache to be against yours?

Why do my eyes search for you in everything I see?

Why do my ears need to be filled with your voice?

If love is felt in the brain

Why does my bed always feel so cold without you?

Why does your absence bring me such despair?

Why can't I breathe without you?

Why does every inch of me long to become one with every inch of you?

Why do your tears make me feel like I am being ripped apart?

If love is felt in the brain

Why, when you are not near, do I feel like a museless poet?

Why, when I am without you, do I lose myself?

Why does being without you feel like being a moon with no sun?

If love is felt in the brain

It's yours anyway.

Rip it from my chest,

Carve your name into my flesh,

Burn your words into my brain,

it's all yours anyway.

Do with it as you please,

I'll stay, you know I will.

It's not like I'm some kind of saint anyway.

I wasn't always sunshine

and neither were you.

And now we're both sick

Twisted, demented.

We're sick, and we're wounded.

We'll probably die like this.

Suffocated and poisoned by each other.

Except eternity itself.

This, I knew better than anyone,

I knew. nothing ever lasts.

Not the stars in the sky,

not the flowers in the vase on the window,

nor the ones in the garden

not the innocence of childhood

not the only life I so cherished with all of mine.

I miss him.

with my entire soul, i miss him.

but he never would have wanted this,

for me to despair over him this way.

For he believed in taking every moment as it came

embracing it, and letting it leave,

opening yourself to the next, and doing the same.

so I will continue to search for him in the stars,

to buy his favorite flowers each time they wilt,

to remember him in the spaces between the seconds,

I will continue to live each moment, to love every moment, and to cherish my life.

I will never not miss him,

But everything is only temporary,

and what can be precious to you,

if it is always to be yours?

Death can be frightening

but Life is just as scary

Take each stage of life as it comes

like the petals of a flower,

that sprout, bloom, wilt, and die.

Welcome death when its time

never stare directly at the sun

for it will damage your eyes.

Even just for a moment

our sun is too bright

except for when

in the most total of eclipses

we can only look at our sun

when she is almost not here at all

only with Luna to shield us from her

can we see our own sun

How tragic that must be

to know we cant look at her

without harming ourselves.

my sun is different, though

my sun is warm, inviting

it doesn't hurt to look at my sun

my sun is brilliant,

his brilliance lights up everything

showering the world with light

careful to not overwhelm

careful not to burn

careful not to harm

my sun is the most dazzling star

in the entire universe

nothing could ever outshine him

no moon, or other star