“death creeps in through your bedroom window
in the middle of the night when you’re all alone
and your mother has kissed your cheek
for the last time. death walks in slowly,
greeting you calmly, patiently, gently.
death takes you by the hand
and guides you into the soft breeze
promising you it will be better over there.
you don’t know where there is,
but you want it to be better.
death takes your hand and
you follow gladly, though reluctantly,
and when your brother finds you
on a cold november morning,
no one will know how it happened,
and that will make it all the more tragic.
“he died in his sleep,” they say,
and they’ll blame it on pills,
claim you must have invited death
into your home and begged for him
to take you away from here,
but we all know better.
you were always more than that.
death takes you because he wants you,
because he’s sick of waiting
for your smile to plant sunflowers
in the front garden and
tulips out back.
it doesn’t sink in until spring comes around
that flowers will never grow in these gardens
again without your laugh to water them.”
i didn’t believe in angels until you became one || s.r.