The dead never truly leave us,
their voices live within our depths,
waiting for our souls to listen.
If I close my eyes, I’m speeding down the highway,
two sips of whisky on my breath, running through the hospital.
If I close my eyes, I'm embracing your family as my own,
sharing brandy and memories around your kitchen table.
I'd always held such pride in this contorted mind,
but death and absence bled me dry — I became a husk.
I fell into a morbid stupor — darkness swallowed me.
Saturnine hearts need to feel every inch of their wounds;
I buried mine beneath the murk of the subconscious mind.
Melancholia became a canker I couldn't see or clutch.
Kneeling down in the dewy grass, I watch the sunrise with you.
I place a hand upon that stone, and I come undone.
I'm sorry I failed you — I tried so hard to make you proud.
I should have been here so many times last year.
I didn't earn the right to call you mother,
but I looked upon you as one.
You taught me that sacrifice and forgiveness
are the truest kernels of love.
Gifts of grace imprinted on my heart.
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