I’m stuck in my bed again--
under the bumblebee blanket
that was gifted to me
by the only girl who ever
gave me more life
than she ripped away.
That was six years ago, now.
I used to say it was impossible
to pluck myself up.
I guess what I really meant
was that it was challenging,
because this time it is impossible.
Even when I try, in no time
I still end up face-down
in the pillows that still smell
like the girl who was here
every night for the last three months.
She doesn’t come around anymore.
The ones who tend to rip
also tend to run.
Things have been darker
since she hit the road.
The only light I’ve seen
is from the streetlamp right outside
my window. I’ve been watching it
for six nights, now.
For the first three nights,
it was so bright and resilient
that I even felt a little envious.
On the fourth night, it flickered
a few times but found its way again.
Nothing to worry about.
But on the fifth night, it flickered
over and over, until I had to turn away
from the window. It hurts me too much
to watch a thing try and try to stay alive
when all the life is being ripped from it.
Tonight, there is only darkness.
Outside my window, it’s black.
There is nothing left to see.
No light. No flicker. Only darkness.
It’s better that way, don’t you think?
Would you rather watch it flicker--
struggle, and spit, and spew
the last light it has left
just so the runners underneath
can have an easier getaway?
Don’t you think it’s given enough?
Don’t you think it deserves
just a little bit of peace?
Don’t you understand
it can’t flicker forever?
Can’t you see its energy
has been ripped away
year after year
and now it has nothing left?
Don’t you see?
Don’t you understand?
Some things don’t have the energy
to carry on anymore.
Some things can’t keep trying
after so much ripping and flickering.
So much spitting and spewing.
So much giving.
Some things are tired.
Some things are ready to go dark.
Don’t you think?
under the bumblebee blanket
that was gifted to me
by the only girl who ever
gave me more life
than she ripped away.
That was six years ago, now.
I used to say it was impossible
to pluck myself up.
I guess what I really meant
was that it was challenging,
because this time it is impossible.
Even when I try, in no time
I still end up face-down
in the pillows that still smell
like the girl who was here
every night for the last three months.
She doesn’t come around anymore.
The ones who tend to rip
also tend to run.
Things have been darker
since she hit the road.
The only light I’ve seen
is from the streetlamp right outside
my window. I’ve been watching it
for six nights, now.
For the first three nights,
it was so bright and resilient
that I even felt a little envious.
On the fourth night, it flickered
a few times but found its way again.
Nothing to worry about.
But on the fifth night, it flickered
over and over, until I had to turn away
from the window. It hurts me too much
to watch a thing try and try to stay alive
when all the life is being ripped from it.
Tonight, there is only darkness.
Outside my window, it’s black.
There is nothing left to see.
No light. No flicker. Only darkness.
It’s better that way, don’t you think?
Would you rather watch it flicker--
struggle, and spit, and spew
the last light it has left
just so the runners underneath
can have an easier getaway?
Don’t you think it’s given enough?
Don’t you think it deserves
just a little bit of peace?
Don’t you understand
it can’t flicker forever?
Can’t you see its energy
has been ripped away
year after year
and now it has nothing left?
Don’t you see?
Don’t you understand?
Some things don’t have the energy
to carry on anymore.
Some things can’t keep trying
after so much ripping and flickering.
So much spitting and spewing.
So much giving.
Some things are tired.
Some things are ready to go dark.
Don’t you think?