A poem
You’re killing me.
I mumble the words as I sit in the front seat of my car listening to some country station
You’re killing me
Like the poison they are feeding you through lines and tubes is flowing
into my veins, creating a lethal combination brewing in my blood stream
Loving you and missing you feels like it will be the death of me
My heart beats too fast (every beat a resounding “Don’t die, don’t die”), my palms are sweaty, my muscles ache, I barely sleep.
You, my love, will be the death of me.
Its not fair.
I want you here, to hold you and promise you a thousand
tomorrows. And when time screws us over, as time has been known to do,
we’ll still be running like we are invincible and death is just a
detour.
There are no answers. All I can give you are empty words and promises.
There is nothing romantic nor elegant about deterioration.
It happens in twins. One deteriorates followed by the other. Its a crisis, an emergency.
So why, now, are there no alarms sounding?
I’d do anything to turn back time, to change things. But I am not god
nor magician, only a simple poet with her heart on her sleeve.
Your deterioration is killing me.
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