I was never meant to attain remission;
The persistent emptiness was always terminal.
You were the IV
that pumped saline through my veins,
that sustained my ceaseless warmth,
that showed me the world, crystal clear.
No one was making you stay, my dear.
Spurious assurance breeds disappointment
and yet you always affirmed that I’d be okay.
Time ebbed by, the way swollen cumulus clouds
roll across their boundless blue backdrop.
And as months elapsed
Your eyes, rich and dark as my afternoon tea,
would fixate on the beeping monitor.
Sometimes I swore I caught flickers of sickening hope
flashing in them
in likeness to the little mountain ranges
that flashed on the screen.
Hope not for life,
but for death.
without the feeblest of warnings,
you chose to pull the plug.
The line went flat.
You can’t bring me back.