55.

Am I thinking too deeply
when I see glimpses of me
in the things you touch
words you spill, photos you share
my shirt, my phrases, my home

I’d feel so bad that I left you alone
on your mother’s sofa to die
but you tried to take me with you
worked so hard to kill us, too

Family – I thought you mine
until you loved the bottle
so much as my own family do

I know I am still with you
in faintest revealed slithers
but until you recover – until you’re better
I will never know you again

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3 Comments

Filed under Poetry

3 responses to “55.

  1. trE

    The sad beauty of letting go.

  2. Your words move…as said before…so much good in you…

  3. J

    The emotion here is so raw. I feel the pain in this journey

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