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.