I woke her up, this beautiful angel I’ve trapped in a mortal body. Woke her up from her slumber so complete she left her ego somewhere deep within the recesses of the folded flaps inside her mind. The pink and the gray intermixed and intertwined, receptors doused in the religion of the masses but for oxygenated blood pumping no room is left. She woke up, her soul escaping, hissing, through her nostrils until I say the magic blessings for her holiness to join once again with her enraged sinuses. She woke me up, flopped on the floor, covered in the oxygenated blood meant for the pink and gray folds but instead staining our earthly mores. We woke up in the distance between an ambulance and a hearse, a fraction of a millimeter so thin her sinusoid rhythms tip the scales. What did she take I’m asked – I fumble through her purse. Hope oscillating ferociously wishing for sighs of relief to fill the open space. Cycles quickly lost to rattling, to life forces pulverized by pulmonary edema. Scar tissue quickly thickly growing within the home she once called breathing, sighs replaced by sights of white tunnels, and funnel cakes and all the things you hallucinate when Dimethyltryptamine releases and says its piece – it’s peace out, here’s some memories you might want to catch up on but there isn’t much time so cherish the thoughts and all of the times you had together because that last 15 seconds doesn’t last forever and here she is on a metal table unable to talk to the other version of herself she’s falling so slowly away from. Come back to me she says, but there is no her left to come back to. No longer does she suffer, dear sleeper, but no longer is she.
Dad. You were supposed to be the one who taught me how to play ball, to fix cars, to hit on chicks. Dad. You were supposed to be the one to yell at me when I came home drunk from a party the first time because I could always call you, anytime, and you might be upset but you wouldn’t be mad. Dad. You would be disappointed, because that would hurt me far worse than any punishment one could dream up. Dad. I’m the one disappointed, I can’t even be mad. To be mad would mean I care, and it’s disappointment in the fact that the Dad I thought people have isn’t the Dad I have and God I wish I knew how to be a Dad right now. Disappointment that I have no one to ask how the fuck I’m supposed to help my little girl not turn out to be the disappointment I’m sure I am to you. Dad. I waited for so long for you to come around, to apologize for beating the crap out of me. Dad. I wanted so much for you to finally understand how much I needed you when I needed you but now you’re just this shell of an idea that I can’t even talk to because the minute I do all the memories come flooding back and the only feeling left is disappointment. Dad. I wish I could mourn what little relationship we had, but you’re a stranger passing on the street. You’re the car I passed without noticing, Dad. What I would have given for you to turn around and notice me. To tell me you’re sorry just once, and mean it. Just. Once.