I hope you never read this
But in the case that you do,
Thank you, Fuck You, Why?
Teach me how to love again. I think
That magical part of me in my freshest budding years
Died long ago, (maybe three years)
And I can’t salvage any scraps of it
From these tarnished silver slivers.
Isn’t it pathetic? Older but
In need of so much help. I guess this is what it feels like
To be 70 and dying—
Older, with so much more power
But also in need of so much more help.
This vessel, the maritime memories
Beaten out of by the waves of life
In ways that people nor boats
Should ever have to endure.
I guess what I’m getting at
Is that I’m half of a person
Holding the other half of her
Under lock and key
And since I will never give you the key,
Break the lock.
How do you understand
Such complicated labyrinths
With your eyes closed? In what dream state
Were you able to read the letters without ever feeling the Braille?
How can two people click so much
And yet never make a sound
Heard by each other in proximity?
Aren’t I pathetic? A
Half-Baked Heroine of a drug I
Overdosed and died on (literally three years ago)
Still fighting to be kept
Out of house arrest? Even the ghosts that share their bed with me
Laugh at how inconsequential these feelings are.
Maybe I was never meant
To be a phoenix.