Are There Cradles in Heaven?

The unborn soul haunts me,
Digging claws in deeper.
Pulling my feelings into contortion.
Why aren't they in Heaven?
Has she brought them here?
I wanted to be a good mother,
I wanted to hold her when she cried,
It was my fault I couldn't,
Not hers.
I was careless and stupid and young.

Are there cradles in Heaven?
Does a better person rock her to sleep at night?
Do they tell her she is loved and cared for?
Does she know I love her and I'm sorry?
Do they tell her I'm her mother?
Or am I the devil who left her there forever?

It's hard to be a woman
When you should have been a mother.
I'm in no high regard with God,
I'm written on none of the entry lists,
I accept this duly.

Has she grown at all?
She'd be older now, right?
Or is she cursed to her prenatal form?
Does her daddy visit her?
Does he look into her eyes with love?
Or does he avoid her gaze from hating me?

How Will I be Remembered

How will you remember me?
As a schlemihl? As a schmuck?
As the one who was helpful,
But always deceived.
As a lunkhead who fell for lies?
As the one who always gave,
But was never to receive.

How will you remember me?
As the gregarious one? As social?
As the one who didn't fear the world,
But always felt constrained.
As the benevolent one? Unconditional?
As the one who acted amicably,
But was met with antagonism.

How will you remember me?
As the auspicious one? On track?
As the one who strived to achieve,
But meet obstacles.
As the triumphant? The fortuitous?
As the one who tried,
But put themselves last.

The End 15-8-15

We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel tank pierced,
Petrol dripping.
He sits in the driver’s seat,
You sit next to him.
I find a match,
A small piece of wood
And with the first
I light the second.
Wood, unlit end first
Pushed under the car.
I get in the backseat.
I cry, I'm scared.
You look back.
You nod.
Smoke. No flames.
No noise.
No end.


We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel take pierced,
Petrol dripping.
You take my hand
Comforting my cries.
I nod.
He sits in the driver’s seat.
You sit in the passenger’s seat.
I light a plank of wood,
I place it below the car.
I sit in the backseat.
I wait and wait.
I'm crying and crying.
You reach back.
You give me your hand.
You tell me you're sure,
That you'll be there,
You'll hold my hand to the end.
That you've seen it,
The cruelty of the world,
That it's enough.
We wait.
No smoke, no fire.
No end.


We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel tank pierced,
Petrol dripping.
You hold me close.
Lead me to the backseat.
I sit, crying and broken.
You sit beside me,
Warm, comforting.
You hold me while the pain
Escapes through the silent,
Distraught, and shattered sobs.
He used the wood,
To trail,
Line,
Trace.
The petrol, his instrument,
The final piece of art.
He lights the end.
He walks to the car.
He sits in the driver’s seat.
You stroke my hair as you watch
Flames dancing in smaller circles
That stop. Too Early.
No continuance.
No End.


We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel tank pierced.
Petrol dripping.
You tell me it's okay.
I listen.
He takes my hand.
He leads me forward.
He knows what comes after.
You sit in the driver’s seat.
He and I trail the petrol.
One straight line.
We light the end.
He sits in the backseat.
I sit next to him.
Calm, collected.
You say nothing.
You mean nothing.
You show nothing.
He holds me in an embrace.
Kisses the top of my head.
Tightens his grip around me.
I know he loves me.
You mean nothing in your silence.
I look at you,
Silently beg for a word,
A murmur, a mumble.
I ask for your hand.
You move.
​You open the door.
I beg you with my tears.
You put your leg out.
I crumple into him.
You leave the car.
His grip holds me.
I call out your name.
He comforts me.
You walk away.
He wipes every tear.
You pause once.
I look up.
You walk on.
He pulls me closer.
You leave the room.
The fire spreads,
Engulfs - Consumes.
You close the door.
You regret.

The car explodes.
The flames dominate.
He guides me on.
He knows this place.
He tells me he missed me.
I grip his hand.
This is it.
The End.

A Death Wish

A blade, metallic and pointed,
Strong and Powerful too,
Leaves a mark, a scratch,
A scar, memories proof.

A flame, fiercest monster,
Red, yellow, green and blue,
Melting and burning,
An ash pile left as remains.

A bottle of little pills,
Pink, white, and so potent,
Helping and healing,
Helping the hurt go away.

A rope, fiber wound tight
tough and flexible,
Knotting and holding,
Breathlessly available.

A river, deep and dark,
Flowing with currents of gold,
And icy wasting waves.
What a lung filler