The inevitable arrival of the future me.

She knows she is asking for too much
         The cursed gluttony of her hope
begging for the security, and an
        end to panic attacking misery
a broken smile affixed inside her
        fake glowing, in a warm soul
she feels the cold, frozen
only partially thawed by the
microwaved
           dependency
Strength in a handhold, it quickly folds
              on her behalf
Intervening between holding on by letting go
or jumping
           from the nest without
a parachute to guide
the inevitable
f
a
l
l
of her optimism,
     she is weak, sugar coated docility
masked by strength
           and silently liberating hope

I've never felt more alone in that moment,
dead line in hand,
 faint radio waves mixed with the static of the dial tone.
detached, I walk aimlessly out the door
where? how? Were you alone.....
why......
I was only gone for a minute... or an hour.... after six days straight
I'm sorry,
Hey.... do you remember......
that damn blessed day
You opened your eyes, and for once, I couldn't blink my tears away
at first you screamed, so meekly
then cooed in insitent tones,
and I could do nothing but look at you
strangely I watched you as you went
through shades of color, and your weak protests gurgled.
Couldn't help but watch so surreal I must have gasped... or maybe I cried out...
but they took you away Angel.
The background noise faultered in and out of drowining ears
and the days rip-tides taking you and giving you back......
as if I was your life jacket...that kept pulling you to surface...
they said you were finally stable...
I should go home to rest......
and now my sweet... I lay you in your bed.

Strawberry reflections

They lay, blood red, juicy
filled with carmine liquid, determined to stain my teeth
I breathe in the fresh air and let the warmth seep in
and allow my mind to amble aimlessly through the year,
Ballet dancing across intimate subjects,
the stretch of the new hair just tickiling midway down my face,
against the blue sky, I must have looked strange
a small girl with short black hair
three scarlet berries poking from her cheeks,
but I do not feign to care,
nor do I mind the stares I get from passing cars,
We just sit in that feild, my drupes and I,
counting the hours with each dying blade of grass
the wind gentle and caressing, tossling the ripe plants at my feet
this is why I lived, I believe
to have these moments, sitting in strawberry feilds
recognizing the similarities we possesed
the sickness, green and raw
remission, red and juicy,
Sadly I think on the last part, death and rotted strawberries
not long off,
I push aside these thoughts, determined to never decay
and I would be the everlasting strawberry,
with forever rosey cheeks
and longer midnight hair
my sapphire eyes infinitly sparkling against my pale flesh,
 determined to live beautiful
but if I were to die, today or another,
theres one word to describe my caprice
from utter despair, to peace
I would be okay to float deep into a slumber
in this feild, forever resting.
...............................................................
She loved those feilds, my daughter did,
and I think they sealed her fate,
she refused to stay inside even when
I begged, the doctor begged, her friends begged
so thats where I had to put her,
I could not stomach the thought of her in a place
that she did not love,
she held so few things precious,
but always, always you could find her
picking strawberries
with three ruby delights poking from her teeth.

Weight of alone

the pocrcelein shook, as the lifeless body
slumped against the armoir,
still blinking,
respiration clear,
but she does not live.
the shell merely mimics movements,
the daily:
get up.
get dressed.
put on your mask.
trudge into the world.
return home.
Let sleep take you under.
repeat.
She lifts her eyes
 weary,
to the corner with her worn down shoes
tallying the photos of things she had
once upon a time loved,
hope flickers through her soul,
abruptly blanketed, smothered by
the weight of her own alienation
finally,
she begins to rise into the after smoke of the flame,
gray mist abandoned,
      still staring into unfathomable distances
wishing for reprieve, if even momentarily
        just a break she prays,
just one more laugh
      to replace her hollowed sobs.

A handful of nothing.

It hits you
like the pin pricks of iron
    in a childs toy
--the almost sudden
magnetic realization that you are
             never
a tree,
only a sapling
reaching slightly below the sky
set against high-rise peers
always towering
       just above your grasp
you stretch,
 extending your limbs in attempts
     to touch beyond the world,
but all you came back with
is handfuls of clouds.