Sometimes, those left alive,
they are bound.
Sharing an odd sense of relief
and slowly, together,
wading through their grief.
And others, the others,
they are torn apart
Become possessive of their pain
a pain so big, they cannot share,
because they think it is so unique,
it is theirs and only theirs.
And then there are the ones who
Make it their mission
to forget.
So I take the pills prescribed
Take the pills that are, somehow,
meant to replace the people
who are still alive,
but no longer exist.
The medicine you take
when the compassion leaves
along with the funeral car.
So I take the pills to dull the feeling
that someone who was once there
can no longer look me in the eye;
Fearing the sight of their grief
staring back at them,
the pain they’re trying so
hard to deny
They’re too scared
and too tired of trying to be fine.
I know and they know
that a longer glance could mean
being lost in that dark mine.
So I take the pills
and listen to the doctors
And wait for those that lived,
for them to come back to me,
one day.
The petals and the ashes fell,
long ago,
But I am still here,
I am fighting.
And I refuse to fall too.
I like the line about those being alive but not existing. and the insight to the possessiveness of our pain