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.

devastating.

when I look upward, the sprinkles of stardust

bathe me.

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

belonged.

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.