Watch Me Drown
4.29.08

please, please, please
I’ll beg you on bended knee
bend backwards, slowly, ‘till I b/re/ak
and cry a river of crimson
flower petals
that scatter on my wedding day,
the same tears I then cry at my children’s funeral
. . . R . . . I . . . P . . .
in peace they may rest, perhaps, but not I
eventually, the crimson rose will fall
its thorns
plucked like wings from a helpless, infantile dragon

but while I drown in my sorrows,
a lifeboat can never be far behind

Author's note: I wrote this in a down-moment, but it ended up sounding almost hopeful for some odd reason. Don't ask me what I meant while I was writing; the answer, I can tell you right now, will be nothing. When I wrote this, I wasn't thinking. I was just writing; whatever came went down on paper. I didn't even know what words would appear until after they did.