Rotten Maturity

I remember the first time that bed made me sick

Was it a quiet night, with the breeze on your cheek?

No. it was bumpy the whole way through .

How sick are you

to not be able to lay on your right side?

After a while the spinning stopped but you always remind me of

Why you think I need you. But I don’t want to need you. Truth is,

Close your eyes this may sting, you need me to be sick so you feel

Needed.

I remember the second time that room swarmed my mind with

Memories of that time when my body almost died

and my dreams went on that deadly ride.

They were not ready for what was given to me in that booth.

The one they call the MRI machine.

It smells like sadness. It smells like lost youth.

It smells like you had no youth.

This room smells stale, like maturity.

Some call it Sinicism, some call it experience

but I call it cruelty.

a child of 15 should not be subdued

to this presence of doom. Before you even had room

to become the ballerina you always knew.

I can detect the hint of an age gap.

But only you experienced that crap.

I faintly remember you. Weren’t you the one who emptiness

made it smell like rotten dreams and stolen beauty. You said

you were only trying to help, now its coming back. Your room is waiting for you.

Now I’m going leave and forget about you, the one who made me blue.