clumsy, my fingers forget gravity
and try to reach for redemption

am I still a blister of sorrow
on your heart?

another year, just another year
then I'd be hundreds of miles away
learning adult ways in bratty seventeen year old shoes then

will you miss me? (or 'good riddance'
as an afterthought as I walk past you to the terminal)

I'm sorry, maybe I will never
be able to be good enough
no shiny trophies, no proud moments
and no teriffic report cards to remember me by
just a trail of dying stars and sadness
inching away from your heartbeat
slowly dissolving into the absolute sky