How do you grieve for the living?
Knowing that they live under the same sky?
See both the sun and stars shine?
Looks at the world differently than you do.

How do you grieve for those that have lost their way?
The ones that never wanted to stay?
Those that made homes out of your souls?
Those who slipped and fell?
The ones with their wings clipped?

There's an ache in your heart that makes it hollow.
Where that person used to be.
You walk the hallways of the house,
Reliving every memory.
Every hazy daydream.
Every Late-night conversation.
Every fight and fallout.

How do you continue on?
When pieces of themselves are scattered.
On the floor like a jigsaw puzzle.
Only you can't put the pieces back together again.

Each piece is a reminder of the way you laughed.
Each piece is a day you hold on to.
Each piece was a thought they had once.
Each piece is now a little bent and broken too.

How do you undo this kind of damage?
When it was never yours to fix in the first place.
How do you grieve for the living?
As their name gets stuck in your throat.
As you think you see them in strangers on street corners.
Capture a whiff of their scent.
The colour of their hair.
An outfit they would have picked.

Everybody talks about the dead with such respect.
What about those that have slipped through the cracks?
Became somebody nobody no longer wants to know.
With nobody to be there when they cried.
What happens to these lost souls?

Misfits?
Troublemakers?
Escape Artists?
Criminals?

All are just labels.
As you try to tear them off.
Showing society who they once were,

Nobody cares.
Nobody listens.
Nobody wants to know.
Nobody but you.
Can see their potential.

How do you continue living?
When you're not grieving for the dead?
But somebody else instead?

All alone.
Breathless and confused.
Looking at a photograph.
Of a person you once knew.

You are never far away from my thoughts or heart's embrace,
we are tethered between life states and alternate existences . . .
Believe me.

For the young,
the gut-wrenching ache
of love lost
Remembers.

The old witches know:
it forgets,
for memory is the reward—
a gift for having known
a twin in this world
(even if only for a short time).

Little darlin’, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter
It feels like years since it’s been here

Now I have baggy, dull shirts with jeans
Then, I’d wear anything but

Now I struggle with communicating
Then, I was a social butterfly

Now I can’t seem to find motivation for art often
Then my stepdad would push me to do what I loved because he said I was “Amazing and talented!”

Little darlin’, I feel like ice is slowly melting in my brain.
It feels like years since my head has been clear.

I tend to miss him and his grayish eyes that always had a twinkle in them when he was cheerful

Now I sit in my room figuring out what to do with myself
Then, Eddie would check on me while I was splattering colorful paint on a bright white canvas

But here comes the sun each day,
I dread it almost every time because the thought of missing loved ones hurts too much.

Now, I wake up before the sun, waiting to see how my week unravels like a red carpet.


Then, I used to want to grow up & move out of this place,
Now I’m not sure what to do.

But it’s alright, soon I’ll start to feel like me again.

i took your socks.
i don't remember if you wore shoes—
but just before they took you,
i took your socks.
i don't know why.
you didn't need them,
but i regretted it instantly.

later i bought you new socks:
long, cable-knit ones to keep you cozy.
to keep you warm.

i'll never forget.