Green and black checkered blankets
lie across plastic funeral chairs
atop tired, lime colored carpets.
An inatimate audience garishly
posed before a square foot of
precisely dug, freshly cut earth.
Someone hands me an olive tone box.
Sunlight plays off of the glossy marble.
His urn is heavy and cold to the touch.
Beside me a voice recites a prayer,
unsteady and choking on tears, as I gaze
emptily into the shadows of a nearby Oak.
Peacock feathers and rose petals
fall from shaky, sorrowful hands.
A teddy bear, an angel charm, five links
of grandma's rosary, a tiny wooden cross...
An offering of remembrance to join
him in his internment, moments of
meaning only to those who are left behind.
Sounds become soft, colors dull, time slows.
The Angel of Hope resides over the hillside,
a quiet, unwavering eye who guards
the souls of our tragically met youths.
Space and relativity become foreign,
as reality befalls my unprepped mind.

Feeling lost.
Helpless.
Lifeless.
My soul has spiraled out of control,
Developed into a tornado of irrevocable emotion.
Confusion has become a hindering part of my every day routine.
Some ask for more time,
Time is just a constructed concept.
Seconds are useless without minutes,
Minutes are useless without hours.
The craving for more of it is useless without a destination for more happiness.
Happiness…what a socially praised detriment.
Happiness has become rare in the steps I take.
How do I feel happiness when I still feel the monsters hands wrapped around my throat?
When I feel the blade piercing my chest?
The smashing weight of the monsters body holding me in place?
No… happiness has turned to disgust of what I’ve endured.
Three times I’ve tried to take myself from the nightmares of the monster,
Once by hanging my soul from the rope.
Till “SNAP” the rope breaks and I was left gasping for any breathe I could gain.
Another by taking more medicine than should be regulated.
I laid lifeless among the white tile,
Only to wake up to see my efforts have caused nothing but a knot within my core.
Finally the third,
Where I raced through the wind,
Smashing my transportation into the end of an inatimate object.
Still no prevail.
Still my heart beats.
I’m left with the visuals,
The sounds.
The constant replay every time I close my eyes.
Nowhere to run,
Not even a place commonly referred to as home.
Homes filled with demons that constantly go back and forth.
I’m left straggling through the depths of a dark tomb.
I’m stranded feeling lost.
I crave sleep.
I crave dreams.
I crave the answer to what this life means.
Still I’m standing,
Lifeless,
Hopeless.
Dead.

curving inward
away from the packed suitcases
moving into the rose
quiet in the bundle of the peg lights
a doll whispers about being on display
about the death of feminism
the intersections of being inatimate
stripped of covering
surrounded by cloth
the swings pout in the windows
the chill keeps farmers hands out of dirt
the frost creates in ways we cannot
and the touch of the walls is velvet
is acrylic paint, is object jutting
the onions in the pan are browning
the oil hops up and halts on stomach
everything is panneled
conglomerate, patched, zero waste
a compost larger than a parking space
imagining our solutions for landfills
imagining the reflections of who we have been
planning to leave a gift of words
to send paper across country
even egg cartons will fall
all of this will falter
all of this will crash, disburse, forget, remember
a fabric child is older than we
she is staring
unable to blink, to escape, to step back,
how lucky, to be mobile
though just having wheels or legs is not enough
how much crying will we do before we realize
we are not bound
how much longer will i pretend that i can last
when i picture you
your eyes are averted
the hiding, the distance
i want to be able to say i will wait
i wish that i could promise it to you
but i am angry
angry that you cant snap forward for us
step into what we were once building
i see that you are trying, love
i do.
i need to know if i am trying.
if i am willing, or forcing, or flowing.
all of this is nonsense in this moment.
i am not going anywhere.
but i may,
i have to let you know that i may.
it only seems fair, though it is heartbreak in letters and being stuck to stare at the weapon.
i will freeze and sit on a shelve, never age, but wear away and display the past for you. memories only molecular. memories only dust.