"Why do you think about death so much?" My mother says to me one evening as I eat a cobb salad.
My mother is imaginary.
In this dream, I come up with some funny rhetoric and she laughs a pearly laugh and suddenly I'm 12 again:
My childhood best friend snorts milk out of her nose and this makes her laugh more. I don't understand what's so funny.
Suddenly she stops and looks at me with doe eyes.
"Why do you think about death so much?"
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
"Why do you think about death so much?" My mother says to me one evening as I eat a cobb salad.
My mother is imaginary.
In this dream, I come up with some funny rhetoric and she laughs a pearly laugh and suddenly I'm 12 again:
My childhood best friend snorts milk out of her nose and this makes her laugh more. I don't understand what's so funny.
Suddenly she stops and looks at me with doe eyes.
"Why do you think about death so much?"
Request permission to use this poem