Well, not we
But you alone delayed
Those blurry red lines
That poured from
An officers light.

He pulled you from the grave
In the way
You pulled those stones
From the ground,
Pillbugs and all,
To call them boys
And count their fingertips.

Each had ten
While you had twelve
After the crash.
The car wrapped around the sharpest
Pole you could reach
(The car wrapped around,
Twisted like a cobra,
With poisonous barbs ready at will)
and spit you out towards the top.

You slowly slid down
Peg by peg, full with splinters,
Then the officer came
And let down his hair
To weave into yours.

After we went camping
The forest swallowed you whole
And the belly of the world
Was swollen with guilt.

After we went exploring
You swallowed your tongue
And your belly was swollen
With rage and your
******* with milk and metal.

It was the wild
(About which you had forgotten)
Which drove you to madness
And
It was the madness
That drove you to
Crash the car
Once before

And though I hope otherwise
We fear it will drive you
To crash again.

Well, not we
But I still fear for you.

I felt her presence,
hovering over my grave like a mothers last prayers
Like a fathers burning sorrows after thirty years drunk
Alone she stood, framed against the soft blowing trees,
and the dancing wildflowers that were placed as an ode to the dead
She held orange petals to herself,
close to her chest, as if to let them hear a heartbeat,
but the ear of a flower only picks up meaningful noises,
not the slow tempo of a withered muscle,
overworked from exhaustion

She wore black, knee high leather boots,
and a matching jacket
Her hair was wild, and she looked *****
She smelled of ***** and no showers,
cigarettes and sweat and blood
She looked of regret,
and her eyes sang tunes of pessimism
Anxiously she removed the bright flowers from her *****
Poppies, by the look of it
She presented them to the face of my headstone,
cracked and eroded with age, my name barely recognizable
Left with nothing, her fingers went to her short blonde hair,
matted and encrusted with dirt
She ran her hands nervously throughout, eyes constantly distracted

Suddenly, she focused ******* the headstone
A tear fell from her eye, and I watched it soak into the concrete
Her lips moved in familiar shapes, but words were lost to me
Every word
But one
A name

Abigail

And she turned away, walking crookedly into the wind and rain
And though I know she was talking to me,
I could feel the name on her lips, see it in her eyes
She scratched the insides of her arms as she disappeared from sight,
and I felt a longing in my own

"I walked away from myself that day. I gave it all up for hope. I guess this just goes to show what it's worth. Maybe I'll understand it one day, but for now, I am dead to everyone including myself."

Abigail Hollow
Jan 1992 - Aug 2008
A loving daughter, sister and poet.

I was 15 years old
when I tried ******
for the first time.

I got it from an older girl
with a mane of obsidian
hair and a porcelain face
shaped like all
her teardrops.

She told me she'd let me
**** her
if I went to prom with her.

I didn't want to **** her;
she smelled like
the Boston Harbor.

I smoked the ******
that first time.

Gray smoke curled thickly
into the damp air of
a basement haunt--
in the Georgian heat
the rain had steamed away.

It tasted like the sands of Persia
or the ambrosia of Mount
Olympus.

It smelled awful;
burnt rubber after a highway
blowout.

I couldn't move;
I sat on my moth-eaten
sofa, dozing in and out
of life in a golden daze.

Everything was golden then
in that instant and I knew
the golden love of a mother's
glowing gaze for the first time.

Then I heaved and my stomach
purged itself.

Then I knew the black hate
of my own vicious glare
for the first time and awoke
an hour later.

Then I threw up my guts
again.

When I woke to the sounds of silence
once more I was confronted
with a golden warmth
and the feeling of the presence
of the Sacred Heart--

and I knew that I loved it.

I knew you once,
when the sun
shown bright.
Your brown eyes
deep with delight.
You were vibrant
full of art;
the windows
and doors
straight to your heart.

Flash forward:
time span
7 years;
you drown in
dark, ****** tears.
Alone with yourself,
the shadows emerge.
Your defenses down;
their spell, you cannot purge.

She feels like love,
those intoxicating charms;
slithering through
the needles in your arms.
You know, as I:
from her
you'll never hide.
Lie, cheat, steal
to keep her
by your side.

I adore you
like a sister,
there's nothing more true.
But I have to step back
with feelings so blue.
There's nothing to do
but sit here
and hope
I don't get that phone call,
"She's overdosed
on dope."

My little Dolly;
Lara, you're my
own personal
Betty Page.
Please pick the lock;
free yourself
from this cage.

The drive
From Orange County to Los Angeles
Had never been so long.

Broken wipers
Black drugs
Psychotic episodes
Wet roads
And

“This is it.”
(I thought)
“I’m going to die this way.”

High
Too thin
Frightened
And
Without a Home

He continues to speed North
Trying to get his emotions to go South
And I’m frozen in the passenger seat

I smell of dirt
***
And blood

Spiraling into the abyss
I tried to remember his eyes
Inside the elevator

I stared his way,
But only the drugs gawked back

I prayed to a God I’d never seen
Begging to be saved from
My own decisions.

The demons pounded on the van
Some more
They weren’t going to rest
Tonight.

Tonight
We were dressed in black
The van shrouded in it
Tonight
We belonged to them

“This is it”

I inhaled the fumes

And surrendered.