Nothing left but the wet
but something else;
unheimlich; the body
though not yet cold;
failing to feel the ground
beneath my feet
I leave the room
to try & force my fists & skull
through a wall.
Sometimes I forget that you’re gone.
Sometimes I hate you for leaving,
but as you told me “c’est la vie:
la tristesse sera fini bientôt,
mais je suis désolé mon enfant.”
Sometimes I forget your face & panic.
Sometimes I take solace knowing
that now you’re nothing
& sometimes I can’t stand it.
My greatest regret will forever be
not being there to see
your final breath.
what I whispered to you when
all energy had left
will remain a secret
I will keep forever…
* Iron Chic – Know What I Mean, Jellybean