eighty eight

Even the simplest things I do are invaded by the depth of the universe and the life that surrounds me. I'm eating toaster waffles, because it's all I can stomach at 8 am, but that's not the point. What I suppose could be a peaceful morning routine is time for me to collect my thoughts in a poem or throw them away in a song. I can't ponder it all, I can't understand it all, but I'm trying so hard, reaching so far, out into something I can't hope to explain. Though my life has become considerably less complicated over the course of me realizing I have less time to be stupid, it still all boils down to two struggles, two opposite but equal planes, two parallel lines running side by side connected only by my spread-thin bones.

I'm forcing the waffles down now, because I know everyone says I'm skinny, so I probably need to sustain my body though my stomach is protesting. It makes me think, will I be able to eat when she dies? Will my brother be able to eat when she dies? We are both prone to skipping meals when the casserole someone brought doesn't look appetizing.

I wish I didn't think so much, but then again, I would prefer it any day to not thinking at all. There are pros and cons to everything.

eighty seven

Do you see it the way that I do?
Death like a silence reaching towards you
Everything'a moving but we're still here alone
Counting your breaths like a way to reach you

I'm twirling my ring like a carousel
Clockwork to note all my nervous heartbeats
Dad is a ghost still trying to win the game
Every wall chains me in and I can't tell the difference

This is a new year, or so they say
Do you hear me trying to save you?
Trying to fix it all?

This is a fresh start, or so they claim
These are my tears trying to tear this all apart
A million reasons why you're gone from me
One ill heart that might stop beating

I know it's summer where you are,
I know it's summer where you are,
I know it's summer where you are,
I know its summer where you are.

Catch your life in the palm of your hand,
It might stop running,
It might stop running.

eighty six

I felt more at home in a phone call
Than in my own bed,
I guess that says a lot,
And explains the fact that I'm not sleeping

eighty five

I can't stop thinking
About how it will happen.
I can't stop imagining
Black and white scenarios
In my head.
Will there be a piano
For me to play
When I miss you telling
Me not to?
Will there be that dress
For me to wear
Because you weren't well enough
To tell me it's a bit short?
Will Ben let me hug him
When it finally hits?
Will I say anything?
Will words come?
Tomorrow, cousin Will is coming
To put Christmas lights on our house,
And in January,
The Lin's are coming to visit,
And I'm overwhelmed,
Not really in a good way

eighty four

The paper was signed
Early on in July,
I knew what it meant,
But I asked him anyways.
It didn't make a difference
About what it said
But it made me feel better
It made me feel better