Poem: When

When broken into pieces those pieces are your skeleton

But they don’t look like you – they look like an elephant, a debutant, or a fig …

Point is that sometimes it isn’t you that is confined underneath your skin

Wouldn’t it be nice if grave keepers collected our wretchedness into different shapes?

Instead you rot until there is no more of you in the tomb, but there is a stone with your name on it above where you rest

Worms and other creepy crawlies taste your lips, tasting those of whom you last kissed

I am here waiting to see blackness

I am here debating 

I am here and I want to live, but do you want it more than the kid who walks amongst the ghouls?

Everyday is a stumble and our fingernails have dirt in them, while our teeth grind to dust

We await the rain to cleanse ourselves and to play in the puddles – to forget about us

Your skeleton is in a box and now no one can get to you

You grew into an elephant eating too much fast food and snacks and smoking things you shouldn’t have with spoons

I am here waiting to see blackness

I am here debating whether or not I’m on a similar path – I still smile in spite of the sunshine – as I disrespect my body by disobeying past promises

Pop, if you could do one thing for me, seeing as you never have, please lead me to the light, so that I can handle happiness 

Wouldn’t it be nice if you were ever nice … Wouldn’t it be nice if you were ever anything at all like a father … Wouldn’t it be nice to defeat your destiny …

So when I speak of walking amongst the ghouls, if you can hear me, know that I am surrounded by a self-diagnosed dosage of anxiety and loneliness

When these monsters come a-callin’ before my grave – I cannot stop them

In spite of the monsters I will smile, but I still have to fight the shakes

If I become the monster that comes a-knockin’ – When, I meant –

Look out

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