Wake

Waking to the rain beading outside the window, a bleeding ghost against the mist of dreams. I exhale upon the pane.

The pain.

Tear drops fall staccato upon this canvas of blurring lines I can no longer see. But I keep pressing pen to page in crimson ink because I cannot exorcise the way you still haunt me.

The dissonant wind chime breathes your parting whispers and every secret I’ll never know. Buried in those deep blue eyes, six feet underground.

My sobs choke as I place my hands upon this Earth that you’ve departed.

I awake, shaking and cold, every tear a silent prayer that you’ve awoken somewhere better than here. Than this place that hurt you and drove you away.

And the slow motion image of disjointed dream I where I see the flash before you departed and lament that you were all alone in the end and that I didn’t even know. 

I missed your wake. Please don't let this be awake...

I go to this place to grieve and beg forgiveness for leaving you alone. Because I don’t know where you’re buried. I didn’t even know you were gone.

Suspicious glances when I asked for you. Some sadistic joke? Or does he really not know? The bottom falling out of my chest as the tale unfolded before me. They didn’t know where you rested either, only that you were gone.

Left in the wake of sinking confusion and endless questions that will never be answered. And guilt that pulls with hooks from the bottom of my heart.

And the fraying projector reel plays on loop. The fractured images of you here, not here, leaving, gone. 

And I wake.