Twist your mouth and sneer at everyone who ever looked down on you, yeah?
"Nah cuz, I don't do emotions. I don't do that shit cuz."
Look through the misty window onto a street of snow as your mother lays ill on that hard as fuck hospital bed next to you- plastic tubing on the spine of her arm?
Jk. I've never seen snow before.
It was the ocean, swirling blue Japanese pop art in the 80's and the low hum howl of the wind saying hi and touching its surface.
I turn and my mother's on her side, talking to one of the tens who visit her so that they can be absolved of their guilt and be able to comfortably say, "I saw her right before she died and she looked absolutely fine. We even had a conversation."
Bullshit spraying brown chunks from their pursed lips, can you smell that or is it just me?
She'll be fine. It's just a UTI.
I'll grow cranberries for you on my sparse coin studded windowsill so I'll never have to eat that delicious hospital dinner again, tastes so good and cranberries are so bitter.
Both of them unpalatable.
Will you come back and pop the abscess in the corner of my beating heart like you'd do to everything that was not supposed to be a part of this?
Your love as a ghost better never ever change.
Stay the same lovely.
Keep that breathless charm.
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