Death, what a strange concept
to be breathing, walking, loving,
and the next minute, you are a
fading memory in the tired minds
of forgotten friends and abandoned lovers.
And on this final day before we put
you to rest six feet under, while the
worms feast on your flesh, we are expected
to give words of praise, adoration, and lines
like, “heaven is lucky to have you,”
but I’m not what most people expect,
now am I?

I am not elated or relieved that heaven
acquired a new soul to call her own, and
I do not think you are in a better place,
because you were right where you belonged,
here with me.
You were the human embodiment of my
image of perfection, and I would confess my
heart’s deepest secrets to you through parted
lips and whispers each night.
What we had was special, and we kept it to
ourselves, we liked it better that way, both of
us out of the spotlight we had grown to despise.

But you were taken from me, stolen, ripped
right from my tight, adoring grip so suddenly,
and I don’t mean to sound immature, or perhaps
childish, but it isn’t fair.
You were taken away too soon, and you knew
we had promises and plans for the future,
you knew.

So no, I will not stand here and give the world
what they want at this moment, words of missing
and hope for your future on the other side,
because you were right where you needed to be,
and the greedy, selfish reaper himself stole you
from me, and for that, I will never forgive him.

Instead I will stand here and confess how difficult
it is to wake up without the warmth of your embrace,
and how painful it is to catch your scent on the pillow
where I rest my head each night and dream of you.
And I will curse the heavens and the skies for taking
the one person who made me smile.