mourning for a life
you’ve only touched
in dreams;
weeping
for a heart
that flutters
at the things we
all
take
for granted;
no one suspects
no one knows
no one
sees you choking
gasping
being throttled
by delusionary
hands
tightening their
grip
as you refuse
to poison your
soul
with the medicine
and therapy
and words of
wisdom
they offer
you.
it’s not
too much to
ask,
is it?
i mean,
no one wants to
bury
their future
before they’ve
even lived
it,
do they?
