i'm still alive
and it has almost
                       passed a month
            of my living
without you living
           i don't know
how i'm going to be
                                                 will i be asleep
                                                 when the time ticks over?
                                                 will i be dreaming of you?
                               or maybe
                               i'll be awake
helping your kin
the twin you left
               he's struggling too
                           and i worry
for us.

Returning to the world
I came from,
Looking all around
People
Places
Surroundings

It's all so different
From where I am
Now

It was dark,
Now it's light

It was cold
Now it's warmer

I knew them once
Now, I'm not so sure

This was the place
That taught me
How to fight
For myself

This was the place
That taught me
To hide and
Protect what I have

This was the place
Where I learnt
To walk
Alone

Now, I'm surrounded
At last
By people who appreciate
Me,

In a place
That welcomes me,
Yet
Has taught me
To be able to hide
And share
At the same time

The people in my company
Are people I used to
"Hang out" with
I used to be close with
They're now
Strangers
Speaking a different language
Taller
Quieter
Colder

I take a last look
At the world that I came from
And I left.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

I can’t decide which is worse.
The sickly sweet aroma of
Countless wreaths
Or the burning of
Formaldehyde running through my veins,
It doesn’t matter.
It occurs to me that my senses should not be this alert,
I shouldn’t be able to hear
The muted voices, the mournful eulogy,
I shouldn’t feel the satin lining protecting
My icy flesh.
I wonder what comes next.
Shouldn’t I have moved on?
I feel like I’m late.
My funeral drags on.
I anticipate the moment my body is given back to the earth.
Eternal slumber
Six feet under.