Some nights I can’t cope with the fact that one day
I
And everyone I love
Will someday
Die
There is no way to put it nicely, the sobbing that comes from the already mourning of the soon to be skeletons walking and hugging and loving
I can’t sleep at night knowing one day I won’t wake up
I can’t breathe when I think about it and sometimes that makes me think I’ll be taking my last one gasping for air
Which makes the air even harder to catch
I can’t believe there were days where I wanted nothing more than to just not wake up
And today that fear is what keeps me up
I forgot to tell my mother goodnight before I retreated back to my bedroom and I don’t think I checked to make sure the back door was locked
Who created an existence so fragile
So miserable
Who gives us the pleasure of feeling such intense emotions and love for others and is okay with ripping that all away in an instant for some and allowing the grief for everyone else to linger until another loss distracts them
I don’t ever want to pick out funeral flowers for my father.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
Some nights I can’t cope with the fact that one day
I
And everyone I love
Will someday
Die
There is no way to put it nicely, the sobbing that comes from the already mourning of the soon to be skeletons walking and hugging and loving
I can’t sleep at night knowing one day I won’t wake up
I can’t breathe when I think about it and sometimes that makes me think I’ll be taking my last one gasping for air
Which makes the air even harder to catch
I can’t believe there were days where I wanted nothing more than to just not wake up
And today that fear is what keeps me up
I forgot to tell my mother goodnight before I retreated back to my bedroom and I don’t think I checked to make sure the back door was locked
Who created an existence so fragile
So miserable
Who gives us the pleasure of feeling such intense emotions and love for others and is okay with ripping that all away in an instant for some and allowing the grief for everyone else to linger until another loss distracts them
I don’t ever want to pick out funeral flowers for my father.
“Who puts flowers on a flowers grave?” - Tom Waits
One I wrote a few weeks ago, not sure why I never posted.
Request permission to use this poem