The Poem: My Eucalyptus
What happens when you no longer live under my moon.
Will your leaves still season each colorful breeze.
Will I find every leaf’s imprint in the shale of my mind.
Your gifts were more than shade and strength to lean upon. Your countenance will last forever.
You were my eucalyptus.
The Prose: Le Petit Mort
The little death. Like a deep breath, you quell the pain of all the guilt ridden sighs in my chest.
You see, sometimes I need a whirlpool for my brain. Normal is just a setting on the dryer she exclaimed. To which I proclaimed, that’s so refreshing I might just love you for it.
But the fairer sex cannot be the only tiny death I find.
You see, I am getting good at Le Petit Mort because I am finding ways to get better at La Vie.
When I was younger I believed that like the song says: ‘it’s better to feel pain than nothing at all’ and after all ‘the opposite of love is indifference’ so how could I have been any different.
I still forget the hangovers now and then and tie one on but thankfully I feel the need to suffer bad decisions only very rarely now and I think I might outgrow it.
I used to get stoned alone when I needed to press the reset button. Sometimes I still do.