you were great.
it runs in the family, they say.
well, if that's so, I'll wish a thousand nights
on a thousand stars for the opposite
to take place
to course through this frail frame
and shatter the black and white
photo that once was there.
False and deceptive.
"hold out your tongue," you instruct
like the wise man you are.
we watch the frogs hop from lily to lily.
i feel unrelated to them;
like i've been betrayed by their ancestor.
you tell me it's the nonsense talking again,
and i've gone off my poem.
you're on one side of the canyon,
holding your bottle of strawberry wine.
the rib cracking lullaby is there.
i cry out for you,
but you do not come.
instead, you combust and explode,
leaving a canopy of dust.
on opposite sides of the world,
i had still felt so close.
maybe it was the depression alluring it all.
whatever it was,
the memory still hurts.
it's like sucking in winter air
when your throat is already raw to begin with
and the harsh impact crushes you.
when I look upward, the sprinkles of stardust
i am loved, if only by a souless moon
whose face is always vacant and white.
the dents in my hands were where yours one
those soft tendrils of hair and brilliant blue eyes
plague me like you were passed on;
still alive, but fading away.
only the apparation of the marvelous
life we lead is present,
and that is still hanging on by but a thread.
you were great,
and i was shit.