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Mar 2021
I don’t want to be alone
But only to be surrounded by a sea of ghosts.
Maybe I need some help.

I’m coughing up puddles of black stuff
And I feel like I’m covered in bees.
Maybe I need some help.

The January sky has a pallor.
The snow is ordinary and monotone.
I blend right in;
I’m a vacancy.. I’m the void.
I think I need some help.

I would fling myself at the feet of the appropriate person.
I just need to find the appropriate person.
Someone who isn’t dead inside per se,
But happens to have a similar hole in their heart.
And really we should be dead by now.
Really it should be over and it shouldn’t hurt.

You’re half gone.
Your resolve wavers like the tremble in your voice.
I’m in a free fall.
I’m plummeting through floors of hospital rooms
Trying to find your SELF.

Losing you half way feels like a funeral in small parts.
I wake up each day hoping I might get to see you again
And leave having grieved for another piece.

I don’t even know if you can hear me.
I don’t know who I’m asking for

Slowly, eventually but all at once,
I realize that I’m it.
I’m the help.

I’ll sweep up my spine and claw through the fog.
I’ll come out of my coma to wake you from yours
And maybe if I dig hard enough
I can put some of you back together.
Maybe there will be a reason for all of this.
There has to be a reason for all of this.
Something written and completely forgotten about after my mother had a hemorrhagic stroke and brain surgery.
Written by
Aurora  F/NH
   FC Azaele and Rob Rutledge
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