Hypothetical Grief
when its all said and done,
the blood starts to dry.
all that's left is the sting
and the white of the walls
That feel like peace.
So, for a second I let go -
I let myself imagine
this is how it ends,
this is how I come undone.
I picture the funeral
at that little old church
we no longer attend,
full of fake mourners:
An old English teacher
who started my love for words,
My poor therapist -
the young grad student
feeling responsible for my failure.
Maybe some people would care.
I've lost most of my friends
but I still see a few.
My cat would miss me, I think.
I was the only person
allowed to hold him, to pet him.
Yeah, my cat would mourn.
My grandma would, too.
I had always been her favorite,
She'd already lost a daughter -
and I remember
watching her in hysterics
unable to say goodbye.
To lose me the same way -
would suck.
And my family would grieve.
my mom. my dad.
I can hear my mom's heartbreak
and my dad's cold anger
their unresolved questions,
fights looking for a why
and I can see my sister's eyes
as our family falls apart.
I could do that to them,
I would put them though that.
So slowly the world pulls back;
the cold tiles of my bathroom floor,
the florescent lights. I open my eyes
the white walls stare at me,
and life is not better.
I am not magically cured.
But, I still have people to fight for.
For now, that's enough.