This is the last poem I'll ever write
in order to do the world some good.

I no not where to place line
breaks, wether to capitalize or punctuate,
I always forget the latest trend.

I can't seem to be an artist no more,
much less a wielder of words,
so I'm going to stop the flow write now,

feel honored that you get to see the end.
I can't promise this last poem will amount
to much,
But I can promise you this:

The other day, walking to the dining hall,
someone passed by me
and smiled at my boots instead
of my face,

which was clearly marked,
and not hidden by garments
like you might think.

Boots, one.
Me, zero.

I see it play back in my memory like an old video tape,
So dark and crackly, sketchy in certain parts.
I don't see it from my eyes but from a distance,
I'm a spectator of my memory.

It is late at night one night when the family was young,
I was having a sort of waking nightmare.
I couldn't differentiate between the dream
And being awake.

Something terrible was happening
In my dream
I tried to drag you out of bed but you
Were so asleep and so heavy for my young arms
To move

I was trying to tell you that we had to
Get to mom and dad's room.
It was of absolute importance, I remember.
I remember
I had gotten you out of the bed and on the floor but
Your body was so asleep and
I was in distress.
I was terrified, crying as I desperately tried to drag you
Out of your stupor,
"If you love mom and dad you will come"
I said. But you didn't move and

I was stuck alone in that room that
One night in the dark so late at night
Worrying about what was going to happen
And that you were never going to wake up.