I brought you my still beating heart In a bismol pink bedpan, Your hands lifting from the gurney Awaiting salvation through my touch. In my visions I am seventeen. I am seeing you for the first time at my work And you make me laugh. You reiterate the scarring in your soul and down your back And I ask, rudely, if I may see some time. You say sure, But your face wishes that I had never asked. In my wonders I am eighteen and telling a group of people my age at a party Why I am sober, Because my body is weak And I am not tempted. Thoughts of you and my future swirl in my mind But they do not connect. I will try in vain for another year Before I realize that maybe I need to sober up from you. In my recent memory, I'm sitting on the side of your bed Hoping that you do not die. But I'm half naked, Underwear and undershirt the only things I have on And your skin is too hot And your voice sounds coked over And your breathing is not a slow hum But a ravenous wheeze And I'm scared And my breathing becomes torn. I'm nineteen again But now I am saying goodbye Though you are still living And a week earlier I had pledged myself to you forever. You cry to me that you were saving for a ring And I had hoped to hear that But now that you've said it, I can feel my stomach toss Into the bedpan Which houses my heart In your hands, I've taken my place among the dreadfully unbalanced And the perpetually sad. I have come to the conclusion that I have made a mistake That is too late in the making to be remedied.