Poetic Mental Healing | All The Things That Don’t Come To An End | A Poem

Maybe I should make space

For all the things that you didn’t teach me.

And when I enter your room of death

I will choose love as you could never express it.

I would find someone else in her room now,

Maybe another someone, maybe a man,

As if she had never been there, slept in that bed

That would never belong to her

And yet, here it is, in my head,

The memory of her,

The body mumbling its goodbyes.

My family exists here and there.

The numbers balance each other out.

The mouth that turned black.

The eyes that opened up once more,

Lifelessly, erupted from another world,

Overshadowed, the blue was gone,

The soul was gone, the body a skin shed,

She sat up in the bed that wasn’t hers

And I felt her presence more in another country.

What are words detached from a human being?

What are words cut off from your voice?

What is your voice in my head?

Can I make you dance in my mind?

Can I make you say things?

Talk to me? Feel you still, as I am alive?

Is that where you keep on living?