Dad had dragons in his cigarette smoke,
and hummed to dog tags jingling like wind chimes.
Mom has excuses titled “college textbooks”,
and burned her problems over the kitchen sink.

The war ended, dragons went extinct
and the class of 03’ moved on.
Now I christen the silence with Ozzy era Sabbath,
and  fill the empty beds with perishables
to rot with me in the teenage years.

You strangle me with your eyes,
and I sweep our past under the bed.
My heart wanders from room to room.
The prisoners of war jump out the windows,
falling like the day’s hundred follicles.
The parachute men die at the hands of their lovers,
with slurs as theirs last words.

I spend dim lit days waiting for the permanent  
to change its mind to temporary.
I wait a year to exhale,
I wait two to heal,
and I wait many more for you.

All because I’m scared by the thought of things expiring,
but my greatest fear is to be alone with the rotting.