Everything dies but the pain doesn't.
The vacuum lasts forever,
its infinite gravity pulling you back
into the place where your heart is broken,
every time you think you've gotten away.
Coffins close. The ground closes.
You shut a door on a life
but there's no lock that can contain it.
Every part of me that was you is gone
and I will never be able to find any material
to forge an acceptable replacement.

02/01/2010

Author's Note: The title is from "Silent House" by the Dixie Chicks. My boyfriend's grandmother is ill, very likely terminally. He said "I've been steeling myself for the possibility for a while. She's not young and she hasn't been in the best of health. Everyone dies eventually." Which is true. He tries to be zen about things. I am pretty much totally incapable of being zen about anything. I do not go gentle into that good night. I rage against the dying of the light. Yes, everyone does die. And that fact still makes me feel extremely angry and utterly desolated in equal measure.

Posted on 02/01/2010
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