sinking so deep
she pretends to plant a garden,
can’t remember where she left the seeds
digging her grave,
she germinates, I call her name
the response replaced with a rustling of leaves
a shuffling of feet
a muffled eulogy
autobiographically
and I’m on the path to mourning
in whispers I kiss her cheek
but she keeps losing petals
her green thumb paling despite my sunbeams
I guess I’m better off without
the doubt,
the hope,
a glass half empty or half full
distorts sunlight that passes through
so I could pour it on her grave
And hope
a sprout
decides to wake
yet here I find it at my mouth
without a doubt
without a conscience
too proud to process
now that I’ve lost this, my only shred of purpose- her
photosynthesis kept me shining at my lowest-
what’s the point in rising?
let night take the full time shift
I tilt the cup back
as she wilts in darkness
I kill the light switch and
knock ‘em back until I can’t remember
why I’d even set
sights on her flower bed
how I’d rise in the morning
with such deft persistence
it gets boring
without her emergence in spring
there’s no use in me existing
It's unfortunate that Marietta disbanded, but they couldn't have ended on a better note. As it Were is a reflection into a lot of youths' struggle with both aging and losing friends to time, and that it's okay to feel those things, even if for a little while. Halfrican Jones