It's Hard To Take Your

What Happened? How Did I Get Here? How Could I Have Known That My Choices Mattered?

She Gathers My Half Of The Blankets Around Her And Curls Up Against The Wall. She Will Sleep For Hours More, Dreaming Endless Landscapes And Novas Of Colour Both Gorgeous And Frightening. If I Stayed She Would Wake Up And Describe Them To Me. All The Mad Plot Twists And Surrealist Imagery, So Vivid To Her While So Meaningless To Me. There Was A Time When I Treasured Listening To Her, When I Found The Commotion In Her Soul Bitter-sweet And Lovely, But I Can No Longer Bear It.

I Hate That She's Hurt. I Hate That She's Been Hurt, By Me And By Others, Throughout The Entire Arc Of Her Life. I Barely Remember Pain, But When I See It In Her I Feel It In Myself, In Disproportionate Measure. It Creeps Into My Eyes, Stinging, Burning.

My Friend "m" Says The Irony Of Being A Zombie Is That Everything Is Funny, But You Can't Smile, Because Your Lips Have Rotted Off.

Deep Under Our Feet The Earth Holds Its Molten Breath, While The Bones Of Countless Generations Watch Us And Wait.