Rue

I’m glad the dispensary delivers to me at home
on Thursdays
I can sit glazed to try and drive the sorrow down
my haunted dreams overtaking
my vision by night and by day
I have Small Blue Thing on repeat
and Ms. Vega sings it to my soul
I am scattering like light
My eyes, still hazel, no longer shine
but glisten wet and near opaque
no longer windows to anywhere of import
I’ll sit in the shower until the water runs cold
fetal on the floor with my hands around my knees
tears washing freely from my face
I wonder if you cry, but doubt you do
least of all for me
if you ever think of me at all
I know I’ve lost my mind to grief
to bereavement for the still living
the melancholy deepens every day
The ban-sìth keens at the door now, or merely
In my head
Where I would only you could knock


Ah did gie mah hert tae you
forever oan mah sleeve
if ye wid bit tak’ me in yer arms
and ne’er let me lea

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