to come to terms with death

to come to terms with death you first must bargain,

beg for every single memory not to be taken away,

see them slip through your fingers like sand

-that smell, that look, that noise,

the softness of that touch-

cling to them like they’re everything you have

because they are,

because you’re in a raft made out of needles

in the middle of the unforgiving ocean

                  (some days i cry a little;

                  some days i cry a lot;

                  there isn’t a third kind of day

                  just yet)

to come to terms with death i have to grasp

the emptiness that is now

where your presence should be;

the remains of your absence scattered everywhere;

the unspeakable pain

from the lack of the weight of your body on my chest;

the silence

when i open the door;

all this love i don’t have where to put anymore

death looks me in the eye like an old friend and says:

you should have learned

to lose by now;

you should have learned

all i have to give to you

is this never-ending pain

that you’ll cling to for dear life

because it is the last thing

you have

from her.