He rose like steam to the milky sky
his breath light and his eyes wide.
Palms upturned like flowers in bloom.
Then he was still, a sack of bones and flesh.
I was furious at the clock, and at the traffic.
At the very fact that the world-
that my world continued without him.
Quite clumsy but I’m working on it
I watch the world move around me
so fast it looks like a smudge of paint.
I wait for the world to sweep me up
and pull me into its current.
I watch from my window
as the sun runs laps around my life.
Rising and setting. Starting and concluding.
Slipping like sand between fingers.
I won’t fight the tide of time
I was born too old too fight it,
yet somehow still young enough to fear it.
Eighteen and already out of steam.
Between the lines
of now and then,
you’re drawing me
with ink and pen.
and every curve
you’re carving out
what I deserve.
and knotted hair,
of senseless care.
Between the breaths
of God and man-
You’re writing me
just as I am.
With fractured bones
and black-hole eyes,
ringed with lies.
All I am
is what you see
and what you make
is all I’ll be.
— The End —