Let Go.

Mocking Bird Down

Remembering you, is like placing my lips
on a heavy bottomed whiskey glass, filled
with tiny sharp shards of a broken mirror
and tilting it into my mouth. Slicing my tongue,
the same tongue that licked the blood from your lips
when you fell into my glass desk.
Tearing at my throat, with a familiar burn,
that comes only from crying so hard that the
salted grief becomes more acidic with
each clear recollection of
just how
fucked up
The mirror catches the light, like you did,
but it makes me keel over; internal bleeding
and a searing pain, also familiar. Your calling card.
You found me when I was just a young girl,
and you added an unforgettable misery
to my world.
Your creation was my slow deterioration.
Your masterpiece was the physical
damage that would grab at me with it’s clammy hands
still, fifteen years later.

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You Will Die. I Will Not Cry.

Mocking Bird Down


I am a collection of days,
the pendant trophy that hangs
around your neck.
I am the melted down knight chess piece,
that you reshaped to be a pawn,
to carry in your pocket for good luck.
I am the empty space, that fills your mind
right before you blow out that candle,
and remember what you did, before closing your eyes.
I am the memory, that sticks to your clothes
and is etched into the lines in your hands,
that no longer serve you as they used to.
I am the girl that is now a woman,
and you are the old man that is now a shell
of the demon you used to be.
I will be there, the day you die, surrounded
by tubes and drips. I will be the last face you see,
and I will take that trophy back.
Because I lived.
And you, you…

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