Your body has transformed
From the havoc-wreaked form
I hurt to see to a pristine model
Of whom you’re supposed to be
Lying there in front of me.
Your eyes are closed
Like the curtains of a house
When no one’s home:
What are they afraid we’ll see?
Is there anything left within you
Worth stealing, worth taking
And making our own?
Or do they hide from us
The bitter realization that you
Aren’t there at all.
You are not sleeping,
You are not even you, anymore.
You’re a vacant house with
The eviction notice of your poised hands
Glaring at us, promising us
This is the end.
There are tears falling
From the eyes of on-lookers
Who cannot fathom your lack of being.
This means no more suffering,
This means you’ve become a mansion
In some other-worldly life.
That’s what we tell ourselves.
But all we really know
Is that you’ve gone.
The far-reaching makeup
And fancy clothing
Does no justice to the life
That is no longer a part of you.
You are an abandoned building sitting before me,
You will soon be weathered and worn.
You will soon be no more
Than the skeleton
Of what was once a home.


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