5.1.14
This isn't a death wish. It's merely a coping mechanism.
Maybe it'll be easier to think of you
as dead.
My fair-weather friend.
To imagine your existence depleted
Instead of imagining what things you
are up to or doing.
How you take your coffee in the
morning.
How you sigh after your last cigarette
in the evening.
Who you may be seeing.
Who may be gazing into your eyes.
It will be easier to recite each song
written for you or that reminds me of you
As an epitaph of your passing rather
than the revival of some faded dream.
I can live with the thought of you
being no more.
For your being to be gone like ashes in
the desert wind.
And not making people smile or
Lighting up someone else' s day with
your words or presence.
I can live with the idea of your
demise.
Of no more possibilities or
opportunities,
For you dreams or mine to come alive,
For you to rise as I sink.
I can wake up every morning and enjoy
the warmth of the sun on my face,
Knowing that it will not create
freckles on your own cold skin anymore.
I can rest easy knowing you aren't
wandering
Into something extraordinary and new
every moment.
I can sigh with relief, after my last
cigarette, knowing
That you lie still in the ground, never
to be touched or seen by anyone.
Knowing that your lips will never be on
any other's ever again.
I can sleep and know that you'll rest
comfortably with me,
Beautiful and young and shit.
Just as I will remember you.
Far underground, out of my head and
away from everyone else.
Yet, still seemingly mine.
The last beats of your heart will save
me from insanity.
And your last breaths will be my
revival,
My fair-weather friend.
No more will I wonder, no more will I imagine.
No more will we dream, or exchange words.
Rest easy now, and reside in my mind as ghost.
In my heart as a moment lost in time,
For what is dead cannot be brought back to life.
