XXVIII

There lives an image in my head
A picture of people worse than dead
And one of them is you.
They are like ghosts,
Illusions of getting better and moving on,
Haunting the living areas of stale houses
Watching hours of pointless television
Because it is the only thing of which
They are mentally capable.
A family dwelling has become a nursing home
For living corpses,
You wait on the mail to come
So you can hobble out into the light
Wearing a brace on your leg and me on your arm.
Communication is futile,
The couch is more of a coffin
Or a resting place
For the same path you trace with your limp leg
On the way to your bedroom.
Ten o' clock is bedtime
And nine o' clock is medicine time
And twelve o' clock is sobbing time for me,
Because the picture that comes to mind
When I think of mom
Is a black dress and 'What Sarah Said'
And how much I loathe
Watching you haunt this space
Only a quarter human,
And I only tear up because I hate the way I know
That you're worse than dead today
And less alive than yesterday

XXVII

Better is a concept I hacen't quite grasped yet.
What is better?
Is it even possible?
You can't even talk to me,
You don't comprehend.
You don't notice when I am not okay,
When i go to bed early so I can cry,
You don't know how sick you are anymore,
Maybe it's God's way of getting you through,
But will we ever make it?

This is a crappy poem.
I want you to be better mom.
I miss you.

XXVI

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you

I say it a thousand times 

And it never feels any different. 

XXV

I sit in my bed mulling over the way Dad stays up later than usual even though he's tired. He loves you so much, and I know you know it, but do you see it? I won't blame you for your failing comprehension, just like you never blame me for mine, but someday i hope God gives you just enough sight to realize him. 

He is losing hope, the cancer's caught up to him. He is fighting for you, fighting back tears for you. 

Maybe I can take after him in this, maybe I can hold back the oceans even though I feel like letting them drown me. 

XXIV

It's funny how even in loss of words I still manage to write songs that I still don't have the courage to show you. 

Would you realize what they're about anyways?

"It was quiet in your head but I'd been quiet in the house for a long time"