Wake up, your head reeling with the last 27 years.
Has it been this long? This life? So short, but dragged out, living so many phases, so many faces.
Each one I'm still brought back to you.
I tear away, like a feral cat. You still lay out food for me, to make sure I'm still nourished.
Like a moth to flame you coax me and I remember the summers with salted skin and soft collar bones.
Index finger circling down down down. And I'm looking up at you.
Looking up to you, and looking down as you walk away.
Things we will. Never. Get. Back.
Things we will. Never. Be. Again.
And with your hand to mine we created colors so fucking vivid that they'd blind those around us.
Our laughter filling the halls, and how fast you peeled my layers back.
And how I learned even faster to build the walls back up. old ways new.
With promises that "It'll be different." Don't think it will.
I will ALWAYS tear you limb from limb, with a grin on my face that I inherited from the devil himself.
When my eyes pour the paint from your paint brushes and you dream of me at night.
It's 3 a.m. and I'm setting your bed on fire, ripping sheets to the floor and like a maniacal demon, am here to remind you of what we never finished creating.
Do you remember the creaking of the door and the echo of the hinges?
I laid on the floor in the bathroom staring at the ceiling when I needed you most.
Reds, Oranges, Purples... and you remind me of a song I once knew.
Singing words we never lived but pretended, finding ourselves through colored glass.
Swaying on boats, choppy waters and clear skies. Land Oh, here, I come.
And pull the drain. Swam up like a mermaid, transfixed on the designs in your eyes.
But when I grew legs, my first instinct was to run.
-Saree McClaran
July 4th 2013
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