i mourned you

before even knowing you

were dead. i talked with myself

in the past tense

for hours

about you. i grieved

the fact that i know you

hated me even in

your very last breath. i

cried and cried and cried and

i turned my music up loud

to drown out the thoughts--

my brother is dead, my

brother is dead, my brother

is dead; a mindless loop,

a quiet repetition

that opened a yawning

cavity inside me

at the thought of going on

while you couldn't. while

you weren't.

i woke up this morning

to find you were

alive--had made it back home

in the dead of night.

i see you come down the hall

in your baggy clothes

with your messy hair

and dark undereyes,

and while i know you're alive,

my only thought is that you

aren't. that i already mourned you,

that i already came to terms with

the fact that you hated me to your dying breath,

with the fact that i would

never hear you again

and never have the opportunity to

see your smug smile once more. the

thing is--i still don't believe i have

those things. you still hate me.

you say you always will.

you don't smile at me--haven't for

years. i've been mourning you all that

time, but last night i truly

thought you were dead. that

was a different kind of grief.

still, when i look at you,

i just see a ghost. i don't know how

to stop mourning your death. i

don't know how to not think to

myself

my brother is dead, my brother is

dead, my brother is dead.