I haven’t forgotten you

I just don’t want to die, too, remembering.

 

But I do, a little bit, anyway,

Every time I see your door

And the way the light in my room

Illuminates the slice of the hallway

That used to lead to you

 

And I wonder if,

When I move out,

Will I think about you less?

Maybe. Probably? No. Yes.

Do I want that?

Maybe. No. Probably? No. Yes.

 

Please forgive me

but I can’t

 

What? Forgive myself? Keep remembering?

However you want to take it,        .

 

I’ll never forget

(I hope)

The way that one morning

Just days before

Before,

Before,

You were getting orange juice

(I think it was orange juice)

Out of the refrigerator

Wearing a trippy green, swirled, marbled tank top

Fitted flared blue jeans

White sneakers.

And I told you you looked cute

And you stood back up,

Juice in hand,

And smiled.

 

You were radiant.

I wish I could say are.

I wish I had more memories

Than mornings side by side

Brushing teeth before classes

Than long blond hair passing in the hallway
Passing on the stairs

As you went to or got home from work, from class.

 

I wish I had known something was desperately wrong.

I wish. I wish. I wish.

Was there anything I could have done to make it feel more like home to you?

This apartment? This state? This planet?

However you want to take it,        .

There are bourbons and chasers

and mistletoes decorating solid wick

plates. Thick silverware ordains Our

Table and we assort them as follows:

Fish

                      Napkin

                                                Fish

And sometimes when the heaven hangs

down past the head of Our Table we

keep them brining on royal napkins and

mix-and-match-and-stack:

Dinner

                        Dinner

                                                Soup

Never too far from our torsos.

On lonely nights our Table can

spin and dance and foster a

Foster only we can taste it’s

not for the faint heart or any

heart that doesn’t pulse for our Table.

We will shovel our excess crates of

waste from our table — we cannot vilify

Our table, there needs to be order.

Place them for order, put them in order:

Butter

                      Soup

                                            Fish

Never last, always first in order.

It is mahogany and cherry corduroy

so delicious, so sweet, Our table.

Though food is scarce, so scarce and

us, we starve sometimes, most times,

we never starve fully, always intentionally.

Give chance give chance give chance

it chants and chances are there aren’t

Many of us, Many of them, who abide

by the rules of Our table, ordained with

thick silverware brined on purple napkins

But in any and all

means

By any with all, please

Never leave our table.

The Roman sun tousles my hair

With playful, baking heat

And my feet make known their exhaustion

Crying out for a break with each step.

Everything important—

Check—money, passport, identification—

Have hidden underneath a gray tee shirt

All through my explorations of the ancient titans

I encounter across this old old city,

Built with sun tanned bricks that refuse to crumble

to something as insignificant as time

 

The Spanish steps

Steal my breath

In more ways than one

But I’ll be damned if I come all this way

And don’t climb them

One tired foot in front of the other,

Day nine of this busy vacation.

 

I take a seat

On the wall

After my ascent.

Long thin yellowtan bricks of this old old wall

Matching my long thin yellowtan teenage legs

 

A friend of mine,

Here for the Italian fashion,

Generously clicks the camera button for me

Preserving the big big dark dark sunglasses

Which cover half my face

And allow me to pretend I am unselfconscious

 

Instead of self critique, sunflower.

I turn my visage towards the sun

Legs crossed at the ankle, just as I was taught in my dripping-with-Southern-charm cotillion lessons

Sitting straight straight straight straight straight

Soaking in, soaking up, the foreign sunlight.

At the auction for all to see
I know it is not the ones displayed as their creator intended unblemished filled with Sweet White wine that attracts the eyes of passersby’s
The vases whose memory bear tragedy
Whose once porcelain surfaces now carry the scars
Their surface now covered and mended in Gold leaf
Like veins of rivers of Gold that flow down their edge
A warrior proudly displaying its metals
I wonder if they are proud
Is war as glorious as they say

But yet I ponder as years go on
The rivers of time and history
row ever more frequent
The artists seem so clumsy
Placing the priceless pieces on edges on cliffs
As they search for every excuse to knock it over
Shall I weep for the vases, the artist seem to feign distress for their work
only to take it to the mender in such a jolly mood the next day
Whispering Promises to the vase it shall be even better 

I ask the vase if it feels better
Though it doesn't have emotions or a voice
If at the end of the day after being shattered and smashed again
Till the rivers become floods
And the veins become arteries
Until the porcelain be no more and there stand a vase of solid Gold
Are you still the same
It answers not of course
I believe it to be too shy too scared to answer my inquisitions
Perhaps it would say yes, if only to please its maker
If only to be wanted and loved as it has been Promised 

But who am I
Who am I to
speak for another being
Who am I to speak for the shattered
For I could say the creator shattered you because his work wasn't enough
Or maybe you shattered yourself falling off  the edge in a gust of wind Hoping to please
Or maybe I hold the responsibility for hearing every day a crash after cry after smash yet I have never
attempted to save you
But even if I did it is all too late for here you are at the auction
Beauty and wealth for all to see
Your history glows sparkling its metallic Gold under the light of the podium I hear the whispers that you surely hear too and so does your creator
Beaming with pride as everyone points at you excitedly
I ask you simply as the auction begins is this what really matters
Are the glories and stories they bring worth the pain
Has your wine turned metallic over the years
I am sorry

Yet on the podium for all to see
The veins of Gold are not there
Only the light of the sun that slips through the once adorned cracks
The Golden rays now the only fillers of the empty vase
The floor is stained Red and bitter
The Wine now Red and Dry made of the Grapes of Wrath leaks out the side staining the Gold light Red till nothing remains to drink
Still the light peeks through the cracks
Beautiful
Intangible
Broken
And the vase sits empty over a empty auction
Where is the worth it was Promised

In God's perfect image I vow to make
Myself a spider that he may redeem 
A garden Utopia I will gleam   
No flaw can be seen, it must hide or break
In the garden of Eden there’s a snake
It crowns me as queen and says I'm a dream 
A halo of thorns is not what it seems   
prosper, however, these riches are fake
The fruits of one's hunger cost not money 
You must risk your life for what you desire
But you'll find it not worth what you'll acquire
Death be not sweeter, drowning in honey
And so is woe as I burn this empire
Hear like angels, trumpets plays Nero's lyre

There's not a day that goes by

where you are not a thought in my mind.

I wish you were a ghost that haunted me,

so at least you'd be here still.

But you're cold

sitting in a casket

under dark brown soil.

The flowers on your grave are probably dead now.

I guess that's fitting their just like you now.

Dead.

 

I don't want to forget you,

but I'm tired of remembering you

Remembering your energy,

our conversations,

your jokes and laugh,

because you're dead now.

No laughs will rise from your grave.

No words again will you ever say.

 

I never realized how final death is

It almost pisses me off.

There is no comeback,

no underdog moment where the crowd is on edge.

There is no hope;

there is no plot twist.

Death is simple.

One day you're alive.

And one day, you'll be dead.

 

Dead, gone, deceased, lost

all mean the same thing.

It means I'll never talk to you again.

It means you no longer breathe.

It means you no longer be.

You, your essence, is gone.

To heaven, perhaps, maybe hell, I don't know.

Your body lays underground

as it slowly decompose

It's a fact you are dead.

 

Dead, Dead.

Like really dead.

 

What is it like to be dead?

I guess you can't answer that question

I hope it's all you hoped it would be.

Being alive as I am isn't as fun as it used to be.

Being alive hurts because you didn't want to be.

 

I love life, but you hated yours.

I have hope, but you lost yours.

I have a future, and you finished your chapter.

I'm awake, and you're asleep.

I move, and you're stiff.

I am here, but you left.

I'm hurt, but you were the one in pain.

I'm alive, and every day, I remind myself that you are dead.

Damn, I wish I had the words

to articulate the fullness of my confusion,

the depth of my hurt,

the sting of my numbness,

but I can't find the words.

 

I could tell the story a thousand times.

The story about how you died.

That night is trapped in my mind,

forever imprinted.

It haunts me.

 

Yet like a movie,

no matter how many times I replay it,

the ending is still the same,

and at this point, it's insane

to wish for something different.

Yet I wish anyway both night and day

to go back and change the ending.

 

I was doomed from the beginning.

I was never gonna be able to stop you.

God knows I tried.

I texted, "where r u"

I called, but you wouldn't answer.

I did all I could, but it didn't matter.

You were gone.

 

I was looking for you harder

than I searched for anything.

I was more panicked than a groom at the altar

looking for his wedding ring.

But it didn't matter

you were gone.

 

And now, every day,

I feel an emotion that I can't describe.

It's as if guilt and anger mixed

with a dab of sadness and disappointment.

But man, I can fake it

I smile, laugh, and talk.

I go to class and play volleyball.

 

Yet, when the sun goes down

and all the voices of the day stop.

You are the only one in my thoughts.

It gets so bad that all I want to do is sleep,

because then I escape the pain.

Yet every day, my alarm goes off, the sun shines, and I'm wake

But the sun doesn't shine on you, a hard truth.

That night was the last time I'd ever see you awake.

 

It's not fair. Why did this have to happen to me?

Not even trying to be selfish, you see.

Why did you have to struggle so hard?

Why couldn't I find you?

Why wouldn't you wait?

Tell me, before you took your life did you hesitate?

Did you think about how we would feel with you gone?

Tell me, what could I have done?

 

I would have stood with you through thick and thin.

I would have always been your friend

no matter what you were battling.

I would have grabbed my sword and helped you defend

against whatever was attacking you.

Don't you know I would have been there for you?

So, why did you leave us?

Did you think we wouldn't care enough?

Did you think we would be ok?

 

Why, Why, Why?

Why can't I turn back time?

Why did you not answer me?

Why couldn't I save you?

Why wouldn't you wait?

Why did this happen?

Why did I even meet you?

Why, when I would have done anything to save you?

Why you, of all people?

Why my friend?

Why?

Answer me.

Let’s dance tonight, just you and me
Let’s dance and no one else will see
Just step in time, follow my lead
I’ll get your feet caught up to speed

Just take my hand and let’s begin
I’ll take your heart out for a spin
And on and on and on we’ll twirl
With you, my Queen, a golden girl

Let’sdance until the moonlight shines
To sever all our worldly ties
We waltz, in time, just as we please
And find our hearts at resting ease

Keep dancing, rising, ever faster
While we’re here, there is no master
Find your step, and soon we’ll find
the hardships coaxed out, overtime

And with your grace, you’ll show me all
the heartaches that have made you fall
And in turn I, with gracious step
will show you all the hurt I’ve kept

And soon, our dancing becomes one
and with each spin and span and spun
I’ll show you all I have to give
and you, to me, will truly live

and I, to you, do hope you’ll
finda soul that’s worth a little time
to dance with, maybe get to know
while waltzing, we’ll go fast or slow

Our movements secure, and divine
Our heartbeats quicken, just in time
for sunrise calls out both our names
so a decision must be made

How long should our dance truly last?
Should we continue, hope recast?
Perhaps it’s best we go away
To separate lives, and separate days

but know that if you ever want
to have another friendly jaunt,
I’ll wait for you and you alone
because, to me, I’ve always known

that dancing with you’s worth the wait
so don’t delay, and don’t be late

I’ve figured it out, you see; hidden among us
is a dashing feeling of Hope That we must chase 
for what seems like forever. 

A charming fellow he is,
always playfully smiling
a wonderful manic energy about him – his demeanor is spread quite effortlessly.
it’s easy to get caught up in his orchestrated games,
his pretty promises,
his white lies lying almond-eyed. 

and thus, I continue to keep keeping, oblivious to the thought
that I undertake a cycle of suffering that lasts for no less than a few minutes, 
maybe more
(though they’re all equally long) - 

Perhaps I should elaborate.
(as people diagnosed with my affliction are often asked to explain.) 

I cling to Hope –
that vivacious vixen smoldering to the touch like dry ice
and dying cinders 

because, while she is alluring, falsehoods were not built to last, like happiness
and fine china. 

I continue to subsist on Hope alone, the definition of insanity –
again and again
I throw myself at life 
expecting a change again and again 

for what?