why does it seem like my body is so hell-bent on killing itself
my brain doesn't tell me when i'm thirsty anymore
it doesn't let me know that i need to stay warm
it doesn't inform me that my oxygen levels ****
and that i need to breath more often
it doesn't give me a nudge to tell me to wake up
it knows that Death is walking up the front porch steps
it's just waiting for it knock
so it can open the door

10 o' clock morning
saving room for Jesus
but only slightly
picking you up and drinking peppermint coffee
hot
steaming
christmas
petting cats through the glass
of imitated jails
at the pet store
shopping for you
goggles for swim team
no such luck
heading home
sliding under the pillows on the couch
burying my face in the crook of your neck
i don't care about the movie
Oculus is on
you fall asleep while i draw circles on the back of your hand
soft skin so warm
and you
god, how did i end up with
someone so
perfect
eating pizza sitting on the kitchen counter
carbonated drinks burning our throats
laughing at the burps
bubbles coming up our esophagus
happiness
taking you home
leaving the house at 7:15
who am i kidding
we didn't make it to your house until after 8
good thing your dad wasn't home
you probably smelled like sweat and
heat
and spices
fogged windows with writing in them
our names with hearts around them
picture perfect, cliche
but hell
saving room for Jesus was never my strong point