dead things

dead things appear in my line of vision

like the love for my father

and the drive for math class

dead things haunt everything I do

every tractor has bloody boots underneath it

every green thing sounds like a broken promise

dead things taunt me

the unfinished book on my desk laughs at me

the music notes are begging for more

maybe I am the dead thing

and everyone sees a walking corpse

a laughing corpse

a manic corpse

a hopeless corpse

I mourn the loss of my soul

I leave flowers by my door like a gravestone

I only see pitiful smiles and apologetic questions

every living thing seems unreachably dead

the chemo pills my dad swallows four of every day

the hands my sister rubs her eyes with

the tears my grandfather cries after hearing me sing

I am a ghost made up of ghosts

everything I have is haunted and

every move I make is demonic

lay me down to rest now

in a field of wheat and poetry

and allow me to be what I am

allow me to be a dead thing