the slow art of breathing bitter

Oh, Mamma.

As I drove back home last night,

alone and drunk in grief,

I kept singing my favorite song

Because it reminded me of Mom.

And it felt like a warm fire

engulfing my body, numbing away everything.

The orange lights blinded my eyes

'til I could see Mamma smiling down at me.

I could feel her blue hands touching me,

so tender and cold.

Her eyes held sea-black thoughts beneath them;

Her bare feet trembling in delight;

No one could see her loosened seatbelt,

but I could—blue, red, yellow, blue—

All blacked out.

Blue lights traced down my sweat beads.

The scar curved down my cheeks and turned pale pink,

like the rosebud potted near the window.

A few stories rushed like strangers;

A few cities rose in the chorus like abandoned metaphors;

A few things got tougher multiple piles of earth and moons away.

But I knew I couldn't change this one thing:

The Rosebud.

Life's a little piece of shit.

You've had no clue how much

you impacted my life, like the blue color

that drew me every time you smiled.

You cared, I cared, they cared—most of us did—

Just that it wasn't enough to push anything forward.

The noise grew like a dead roar at the back of

my head; I couldn't turn it off,

For it spelled the truth—and truths were meant to be heard.

This time, nothing could stop me

from fading out, as you did.

I couldn't get away from myself the way you did from me.

It's okay: I'm fine; everything's fine

except us.

The sun gulped down our little planet,

yet all we saw was blue—smoking blue.

We were doomed; we screwed up;

We got hurt—just not the way others did.

You sold us away, Mamma—

Everything.

You stood on the porch,

waiting for me to return home

and have pasta night with you.

I drove harder.

Dead birds scream louder,

Tires squeak loud against the low song in a club,

The blushing breeze savors my ache more;

The infinity in the oblivion grew bigger;

The red lights turn muted;

I've never run the red light till today, Mamma.