He told me he would visit after yesterday
What an obnoxious thing to say
Every sentence spoken was like water
leaking into the crevices of my rusty brain
yet he never meant to cause me pain.
I look at him and see a landscape
one which I cannot escape
For he is my sky, my ocean, my stars
but all he ever gave me was a scar
And I cried red tears.
I try to navigate the tangled branches in my head
For that was not the wicked life he led
Somehow he found me in the depths of my own mind
The path to calmer seas is impossible to find
Or improbable.
The sky is shattered by broken limbs
and squinting in the murky pool I see him
his breath fogging up the glass
he writes me a backwards letter
and although I can hardly read the title
I know the story
for he tells it every night at bedtime
"This one is your last"
I wake to see a world stunted by a blank, white canvas
waiting to be filled with swallows in the summer air
there is nothing there
No stone left to make a grave
so today is the day
I will behave
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