my surviving sister told me once,
when she was young
the only way she could tell if I was still alive was
by the changing music from my room
I lived voicelessly by night,
creeping down to forage nearly empty cupboards while they slept
communication, was a four letter forced acknowledgement of hallway passings, that often became arguments
this house was a restless mausoleum
and we were strange ghosts trapped in separate delusional fantasies
who only knew how to smile for cameras
in family portraits
cheese
the only one I ever loved didn't last long
I was there when they picked out her gravestone
I was six, and I knew then-
I never wanted one
because no matter where I went I'd spend my whole life
buried and choking on this silent dirt
and still have no place
in a family plot
when she was young
the only way she could tell if I was still alive was
by the changing music from my room
I lived voicelessly by night,
creeping down to forage nearly empty cupboards while they slept
communication, was a four letter forced acknowledgement of hallway passings, that often became arguments
this house was a restless mausoleum
and we were strange ghosts trapped in separate delusional fantasies
who only knew how to smile for cameras
in family portraits
cheese
the only one I ever loved didn't last long
I was there when they picked out her gravestone
I was six, and I knew then-
I never wanted one
because no matter where I went I'd spend my whole life
buried and choking on this silent dirt
and still have no place
in a family plot
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