memoir
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Four long years you've been gone.We miss you.Every year we have to realize more and more that you're gone. The pain unbearing. My heart still tearing. No more advice. No more caring touch.
From being
a book
once sealed shut,
now open
and exposed.
With problems I fought
to be forgot,
on pages
that can't be closed.
It will be okay—
We see our skin everyday.
the flesh gripping tightly on our bones and protecting us from the world outside
as we shake a hand,
dry our eyes,
or contemplate in the mirror upon if I can fit in and erase my thighs,
Folds of purple satin cloth,
Swallow me.
The lancet from out of darkness,
Taunts me.
Creaking stairs choke on themselves,
begging for attention, I cannot give.
