A Premature Eulogy

Your death.
The struggle.
To you it was a beautiful tragedy,
Line, song, poem-worthy.

You cling to every single thing,
Like fancy trinkets,
At the mercy of the wind,
And gravity.
And you rest your heart,
On what you know will let you down,
And you said it won’t,
But yes it did.

You’d love the sound of it,
But hate the reality of it,
A confused romaticist,
Just like what no one would care to admit,
But still, now, not quite a misfit.

I tried to save you.
But you didn’t want any saving.
Not from me, at least.
But I kept telling you.
We kept telling you.
It might never come.
And you perished waiting for it,
And our cries?
You’re impervious to them,
For you yourself knew nothing,
Understood nothing,
Didn’t have anything.

But this.
It’s something.


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