ParalyticProcess

You were everything. Softness upon innocence                I have always been enthralled by the                  formlessness,                  finality                            of you. I did not have to utter in my grief   you were hidden           in the incense-burning of my soul. In smoke you became beautiful,     a phantom to all        but you were always                real                       to me. -D.E.M

You were everything. Softness upon innocence                I have always been enthralled by the                  formlessness,                  finality                            of you. I did not have to utter in my grief   you were hidden           in the incense-burning of my soul. In smoke you became beautiful,     a phantom to all        but you were always                real                       to me. -D.E.M

I love you in your inexistence   rabbit’s ear   baby’s breath               you are dust               but you are                       mine. Misadventures and      dew drop mornings                small curls                large eyes      my bones cannot knit your future. Sunsets and moonbeams               sleep burdens our eyes               your soft lips sigh                         there is a better world for you                                    than this. -D.E.M

Children do not forget. We were on the cusp of greatness,        standing on worn, wise shoulders        you cast us down the wishing well                our innocence drowning in rigid expectation. Dial tones         letters         we do not answer the call                our response irrelevant                to your adult sensibility. Lurching in your death rattle                we are folded in pages of your forgotten history                only are we perfect                         when desperate fingers have                          nothing else to cling to. Children, we                  do not forget. -D.E.M

We all know how this song ends, little bird         your last line, merely fog on the glass                  is breaking the camel's back                       and                  my heart. Quietly, you tear yourself apart               leaving much to be desired between the               sinews, fibers, and breaths you gave away                              but never kept any for yourself I pierce my ears with brittle bones        weaving my thoughts into blindness                        so that I may not see the way                             I cannot take care of you. -D.E.M