Apr 19
(I borrowed part of a concept from Nolan Bucsis.)
You are not here.
You have never been where I am now,
Old age.
I told you:
"You are killing yourself. Don't you understand?"
You did.
I told you
That I could not watch you **** yourself, slowly.
You did.
And now,
You have been gone for some forty years
From our bed.
You lived on
Still slowly taking the numerous poisons
That would end you.
They did
So, by design, I suppose.
You have been gone for almost twenty years.
You are not here.
I still am.
And yet, you keep perpetually leaving me.
You are not here.
You have never been where I am now,
Old age.
I told you:
"You are killing yourself. Don't you understand?"
You did.
I told you
That I could not watch you **** yourself, slowly.
You did.
And now,
You have been gone for some forty years
From our bed.
You lived on
Still slowly taking the numerous poisons
That would end you.
They did
So, by design, I suppose.
You have been gone for almost twenty years.
You are not here.
I still am.
And yet, you keep perpetually leaving me.
This poem is biographical, to a degree. My Vietnam veteran husband used alcohol and drugs to stop the war in his head. Stopping things in your head means you eventually become brain-dead.
