My brother came up to collect our mother’s ashes.
At the same time, he dropped off her old vacuum cleaner.
I don’t know why exactly.
I hadn’t asked for it and didn’t need it;
I guess it would have been a waste to just get rid of it.
The thing is, 
it hadn’t been emptied, 
and for some reason that 
broke me 
all over again.

That grimy little time capsule.
That cyclone technology urn.
Contents:
Dust of a home you can never go back to;
Fur of a cat now settled with a new owner;
Dead cells of a dead woman.

Remains.

i want someone to feel my body, to feel its heat and swim in it.
i want someone to taste the pale milk of my skin and announce its sweetness.
i want someone to trace the soft curves of my hips mindlessly, with a gentle hand.
i want someone to look me in my eyes and keep my gaze, hoping neither of us glance away.

I lie on the forest floor
with moss beneath,
delaying my sinking into the dirt.
Water beads on my skin,
capturing the trees and the green in its reflection.
Each breath feels easier than the last,
the ground guides my lungs with its own rising and falling.
Flowers creep along my limbs,
shy at first,
then slowly, they bud and bloom,
tickle the inside of my ear.
They whisper a song,
one whose melody is almost familiar,
and I feel myself erase.
My body breaks down, gives back to the wood,
and there's a certain relief in it,
as I take to the less physical world.
My bones bleach in the sunlight that slips through the leaves of the trees, my brethren.

No one will find my decaying form,
the remnants of a meaningless existence,
instead they'll find a small patch of red and blue and yellow,
of plants they can't quite name,
of petals that are silk to the touch.

In my last moments, I smile.

I've been holding my breath
since the day that you left
and I haven't exhaled
                                     since
                                                .

I sleep with my window open.
My room is cold and sometimes damp with rain,
The condensation like a tear on my cheek.
I curl beneath my quilt,
As small as I once was,
And let the darkness flood me, as it often does.

It's a strange kind of pain, that night,
One I can't help but admire.
And when that inky sky drips in through my open window,
sleep snatches me first.

A time passes.
It is cool when my eyes open,
Decorated with black snowflakes that lie upon my eyelashes.
The sun has begun her own descent,
The sky foreshadowing of her coming.
It is then,
When I'm bruised and shivering,
That the birds still sing.
And I listen to them for hours.

Because I've always seen my life in other people,
Don't worry, the irony makes me choke,
That I can't just reach out and touch them.
My hand slips through them like smoke.

Because I study my life in other people,
But it's getting harder to tell
Whether it's memory or reflection I'm watching,
Either way, it all feels like hell.

Because I hold my life in my hands,
But everything's just that bit numb.
I can't feel if it hurts or I'm breathing,
Either way, I think that I'm done.

Let me collapse down,
dissolving into myself,
replaced; a black hole.