Nov 2014
Losing at winning
I lost you. In the ringing hospital machines and nauseating comfort of beds too many sick bodies have occupied. Through the stale air of the doctors presence. Into a room of 25 people each individually packaged. Wrapped in their sadness. Engulfed, longing for one more minute to donate to your blood stream. Lost in translation of recycled numbers that have bar coded too many lives already.
I lost you. In deflated lungs. Not only yours but mine. Speechless from all the things I forgot to tell you. The ones I have been screaming since. Running dry in a deserted lake bed wondering why these tears won't bring you back. The air I breathe is toxic. Feeling sticky as it slides down my throat for every breathe I wish you could still be breathing. Lost in life because you were life.
I lost you. In my finger tips. For everything I touch no longer grows. A gardener planting his lifes gain upon pavement. Praying for rain to experience everything wash away. Each moment of my days feel as if these callouses can't retreat. Creating barriers of a heart and mind. Stiffening my spine while burying coping methods under exit wounds. Hoping these scars will remind me of the time you patched my broken heart.
I lost you. In the ringing hospital machines and nauseating comfort of beds too many sick bodies have occupied. Through the stale air of the doctors presence. Into a room of 25 people each individually packaged. Wrapped in their sadness. Engulfed, longing for one more minute to donate to your blood stream. Lost in translation of recycled numbers that have bar coded too many lives already.
I lost you. In deflated lungs. Not only yours but mine. Speechless from all the things I forgot to tell you. The ones I have been screaming since. Running dry in a deserted lake bed wondering why these tears won't bring you back. The air I breathe is toxic. Feeling sticky as it slides down my throat for every breathe I wish you could still be breathing. Lost in life because you were life.
I lost you. In my finger tips. For everything I touch no longer grows. A gardener planting his lifes gain upon pavement. Praying for rain to experience everything wash away. Each moment of my days feel as if these callouses can't retreat. Creating barriers of a heart and mind. Stiffening my spine while burying coping methods under exit wounds. Hoping these scars will remind me of the time you patched my broken heart.
The arctic has been a place of lots of thinking and lots of poetry. Here is a poem I am working on and plan to add more and hopefully perform it at some point. Almost 2 years of her being gone now.
