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oceans apart
miles away
clocks tick
in dusk
there it is
a sunshine
brimming
day
remembrance
still
of the way
the wind did
sway
it blew us
apart
& kept our love
at bay
 Jan 2019 Huxley Web
krm
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”

My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.

The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.

Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you, 
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.

This world is not tender.

II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.

split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.


My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.

But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.


III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
I wrote this in pink gel pen, maybe, that’s another joke.
Don't worry, spiders,
I keep house
casually.
Tick, tick,
Down, down,
the watch beeps
On the hour,
Every hour,
I always hear it,
I go to bed at nine,
And can hear it counting,
Ten,
Eleven,Twelve
One,
Two,
ThreeFourFive
Now I have to wake up in an hour and a half,
I didn’t sleep,
Should I have done something instead?
Maybe done that essay,
Or finished those slides,
I have so much work to do
But I’m stuck inside
My own head, filled with
This fog of exhaustion
And confusion,
Why can’t I just
Fall
        A
               s
                     l
                               e              
                                           e
                                                               p
Instead of
Purgatory in my bed,
But I’m so dreading the upcoming hell
There’s a part of me that
Wants to stay awake,
Live through the hours
Because I’m not skipping ahead
Like a game, I don’t
Skip the night
Since there are things to do, right?
But I’m not even doing anything
Useless pictures fill my head,
Impossible to put into words,
Fantasies of a history
That never was,
A future that never will be
A creature, almost human,
Glowing with a white light,
With a voice that echoes,
Electronic and demonic
Keeping me awake,
My god, why can’t I dream properly,
In half-remembered fragments
Like my living nightmares
All seem to be...

Turning the alarm off at 6:30,
I realise I haven’t slept at all
I groan and roll over
Then get up.
We have work to do.

— The End —