Zehwahlala_mint07

It was noon. The sun beat down from above. But you shined brighter. You closed your eyes And felt its warmth, And I felt yours. The grass where you lay Left a bed in your shape.

I know that one day You’ll be gone. But I sit behind you here while you sleep, Entranced by your gentle snoring The hum of the car’s engine

The occasional passerby on the nearly deserted road.

One day you’ll be gone, And I’ll miss your anger When I wouldn’t wake up. Dusk and dawn, Two ends of the same blanket In which I wrapped myself To hide from the day.

One day you’ll be gone, And I’ll miss your smile, The gaps between your teeth, The crust at each end of your lips As you bathe me in your light.

One day you’ll be gone, And I’ll miss your laugh,

The one you make when you find something S said funny, And the one you make when you laugh alone at a bad joke.

One day you’ll be gone, And I’ll miss your shadow. I’ll miss your frame. I would shatter myself If it meant I could fit in it Just one last time Before you go.

One day you’ll be gone, And I’ll be grown. I’ll miss your imperfections In the acne scars on your face In the stories through the creases by your eyes, And the stretch marks on your stomach From when you had me and my brother.

I’ll wish just another time for you

To hold me still Or wipe my tears Or kiss me softly on the side of my mouth.

Bathe me in your light

For I grow where there is warmth.

did i mention i was starving and i had gotten a bad test grade and someone had spilled something suspiciously brown on my white shirt?

because this dog craved attention and because my fidgeting adolescent paws begged me to do something.

because petting is said to be incredibly therapeutic. this dog wasn’t fluffy, or cute. just a lonely, sad old doberman with no home.

sure, i worried about ticks and disease, but not close to enough to stop.

because i liked to trace the outline of the ear, of the soft cartilage it was made of.

because i wanted to ignore the questions of who would wins and hypotheticals swirling around my skull.

because i could tell from the dog’s watery eyes that he was thinker who didn’t want to think, like me.

because his barking was somehow beautiful and his fast swishing tail was unregulated by the police or the government.

sometimes i want to be insignificant.

You had asked me how I would feel If you died.

I hadn't known how to respond. I never thought I would have to face it.

It's the grief first, of course. A mind-consuming, Soul-tainting grief. This grief, twisting itself, bending itself inwards into my spine--

Then it was the numbness. What happened to me didn't seem to matter. Sometimes I felt angry, But mostly I felt nothing; I don't think I'd ever felt so much nothing before.

And then it was just Me. It was just me. I was so alone that every day Was like eating my own heart.

just two coin-fed alley kids fishing for a way to pass the time. Behind the screen,  the glass-eyed, cheap stuffed animals, cotton-cored,  plead with us for escape. We tune out the rumble-crash of his parents’ Tuesday night league, the shouted curses when they bowl poorly, and the shouted curses when they bowl well.

And his eyes, all brown and hazel and golden and lit up like pinball bulbs, are watching intently as the claw drops for the rainbow bear, its clumsy seams already unraveling.

This could have been the past. Or the present, Or the future,

but i found the bear not five minutes after he leaves in the women's bathroom, trashed and ripped to pieces, cotton tears spilling from inside him.

There are no readers here, No one interested in History Or science Or anything.

This is darker than the province of the dead, Darker even than that space between the leaves of journals and books. This is the darkness Of forgetting, Of deep space with no stars, Of the rocky core of a dusty Dead Planet.

Glowing eyes In the dark.

Something with bright red Glowing eyes Is watching me From the dark.

It blinks its shadowy reflection And trails me Though I’m sure I haven’t done wrong.

It follows, whirring gently At my futile attempts to escape it.

It’s everywhere.

However much the poets try to deny it, We are numbers. Days, really. Counting

Down

Down

Down

The rain is a constant. An everlasting white noise. It does little to calm the youthful soul.

You must see me through the rain, Because I see you– I’ve always seen you– Caught in your vision, Tethered to your form.

My eyes move to you without a thought. A silent pull I cannot ignore. The rain attempts to distract me– Attempts rendered futile– For I always find my way back to you– Your stillness in the chaos.

The rain, It tries to blur my view of you, But your warmth shone through. As the rain clouds the sky with its ugly shades of gray, It tends to forget That it is only when it is darkest That you can see the stars.