terminal

my plant is dropping leaves

the one i nursed all summer long

my plant is dropping leaves

and there is nothing i can do

other than watch, every morning

and hope it makes it through

my plant is dropping leaves

and so, my love, are you

’cause you’re not who you once were

and i’m no longer me

but i want her back

i want her summers

and her english breakfast tea

i want to hold somebody i will never meet

my plant is dropping leaves

they say that it’s terminal

and i count out the times i have seen this axe fall

you know, there’s something so fucking insidious

watching one more stranger slip away

in pink petals, and dark bedrooms

and i don’t cry

i’m not destroyed, or anything

but it sits, and it eats away at you

all the people you couldn’t change

who never knew who you were

whose lives couldn’t be saved

and i guess,i just can’t stop thinking

what if that’s me someday?


I’ve seen a lot of relatives die firsthand. But because my parents had me, like, relatively late (by which I mean late forties), I honestly didn’t get to know a lot of them. It was like, you know that guy who you had two conversations with last Christmas? Yeah, you get to see him on his deathbed. I mean, not quite that dramatic but close. It’s definitely a weird feeling.

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