I’ve been mad at the world since she last left.
Still trying to figure out how to process my moms death. Screaming for help but the anger sits inside, and we all try to fight it, hide it a little longer, hoping we won’t break.
Trying to process how she left, knowing she cleaned the house, wrote her goodbyes and left them to be found. She had a story, an escape to keep everyone from worrying.
Laid down, deep breath and thought “this is it”
And I’ve been so mad at the world ever since. Suicide in the evening is something I’ve been beating my heart with, trying to figure out how you did it.
Instead of walking into see you with your coffee, they walked into find your body, nothing sits well with death in the morning.
I’m still trying to process my moms death.

Kerosene

Kerosene and me,
What a love story.
If we can even call it love, some would call us a disaster, an explosion of broken pieces.
Together; we fuelled the fire, lacked the desire to put it out.
Kerosene was her name, I swear because that’s all that flowed through her veins. No one expected her to cut her veins wide open and bleed dry onto my flame kissed skin. I guess that’s what happens when you let my love kerosene in. Same toxic love story they tell you to stay away from but I didn’t know it then. Soaked in her combustible love, hoping she’d keep me safe but the story goes, watch your back for the knife they will stab you with. She had no knife, but she struck a match, struck it down the spine of my back. As the flame grew, she drew away from me, avoiding the heat, the danger, the toxins, all the things she created in me. She dropped the match, and watched my kerosene drenched heart become engulfed in flames so strong, everything around me crumbled into ashes. Insanity wouldn’t describe this moment, this love destroyed every fibre in my body, turning this heart into nothing but ash.
My sweet kerosene,
can’t you see what you do to me?
My love, kerosene,
smiled as she walked away from me, and the fire she started.

I was sleeping with Love when Death came to visit me last night, caught me laying with her. He swore, saying every word imaginable because why was Love with me? Not with him? Loves face lit up with terror, was he going to take me, or was he going to take Love away? Little did she know I was already dancing with Death, flirting my way through life with both of them at my side. You can’t believe in love without death, and believe in death without love - the two collide together.

I thought I seen you standing there, you, the real you this time. Standing behind the bar, giving that same what the **** look you always had. It was real this time. Not an image of your ghost, it couldn’t be, it was two o’clock. Two in the afternoon, you couldn’t haunt me in the day light. I wiped my eyes that filled with tears, and you weren’t there.

Thoughts raced, anxiety flowed through my veins, I talked myself into taking a deep breath.
Slowly I inhaled, and slowly I exhaled.
If I could focus on my breathing, maybe for one minute I could stop focusing on how much I love you.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Focus on the breaths I’m taking instead of focusing on how loving you can’t happen.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I wish I could talk myself out of loving you the way I talk myself into focusing on my breathing instead of you.

I hope you remember the sound of my laugh, I hope you remember the way my love felt, and the way my eyes made you feel when I looked at you. I hope you remember it most when I’m loving someone that’s finally not you. I hope you remember all the things you needed, and that I was every single one of them, but to her, I am more than that.

Don’t know how, don’t know when, she became the poet of my heart, and I was lost again. All the things I forgot I could feel, she wrote into my story again. Everything a poet describes was standing right in front of me.