I need a poem
That will make me smile
A poem to take away the pain

I need a poem
That works instantly
Because nothing is the same

I need a poem
That breathes on my heart
And takes my breath away

I don't need a poem
Not a single one
I just need to know I am loved

I still remember her house vividly;
It was always messy, clothes and toys littering the floor
While the cats wandered by whenever they pleased.
There was a beautiful doll's house that she cherished so much
That she let me play with as she spoke to my parents in the kitchen.
Guitar-playing was a passion of hers,
And I'd sit, transfixed, as she sang along to the songs she played,
With a wide grin on her face, that was her home.
Now it's not.
It's never going to be her home again,
Because now she lives in a home for old people with health problems.
She had a breakdown after the death of her sister
And no-one could give her the help she needed, so she went away
Where her loved ones thought she'd be well looked after.
There the staff kept her locked in her room,
Mind atrophied from the solitude they forced upon her
Except for the times they shoved antipsychotics that she didn't need down her throat.
No-one visited her. How could they?
Her son insisted she stay in her home city
Even though everyone in the family lived in another.
My mother couldn't see her own sister, busy being a carer for me and her mother,
Not for years, and by then it was too late.
She'd fallen over, broken her hip and banged her head,
And she suffered through the agony for three days,
Until my mother found out and demanded they take her to hospital.
Then the home was shut down and she lives somewhere else,
Only five minutes away where she's visited often.
But it's all too late.
Once lively, outgoing, big booming laughter that filled the hallways,
She's now timid and frail, she's aged twenty years in only six.
There are no passions, only forced smiles
Dotted here and there, on rare occasions, with genuine glimpses of happiness.
And I'd love to tell you that I'm writing this for her,
Because I love and miss her and want to document the downfall of a woman so wonderful.
But I'd be a liar, because this write is as much about me as it is about her.
Every time I look at her, I can't help but wonder how long I have left
Until I'm in the same place as her.

So I drift into uneasy sleep to greet a woman
Of unquestionable beauty.
Dark eyes beckon me but I'm transfixed;
Her ethereal quality could stop ships.

The epitome of perfection, I need to meet the woman
That gives meaning to exhalation.
A calming voice tells me to come to her side,
So I awake and follow; her echo my guide.

But as I draw near, I struggle to see the woman
Now becoming so hazy.
Her aesthetic body is not as hypnotic;
She's fading and I cant stop it.

She continues to vanish and still I seek the woman
Who gives me the power I need.
The soft grass below me starts to die,
And the echo is now a primordial cry.

Now she is no more, and yet I need the woman
As I struggle to remain in sleep.
Suddenly I'm awake; my hands outstretched for her.
Funny how waking makes things blur.

We never really knew whether this was our heart's calling
Or knew how far the both of us had actually fallen
We merely understood that we enjoyed the teasing and playing
And we learnt to appreciate it even more when it was raining.
It started with simple ideas of loneliness and singularity
Then it became a rather complete ******* plurality
We'd find words to describe the sensation as we climaxed
Only to come to no avail over how lost we were in our tracks
And it'll occupy a permanent space in my memories
Entitled 'Rainy days: my bestie taught me to write stories'.