I still have things I need to say to you
but you are no longer are here to hear them
A husk of your former self
sits across from me
in the same red recliner you have always occupied
Cracks in the leather tells tales of days before
careless jokes accompanied by a belly of laughter
told by a careful man filled with vigor
A time that felt not so long ago
when the vines did not wrap as tight as it does now
when the light still shined in your eyes

The train has left the station
yet the conductor has fallen into a slumber
There is a brokenness in the air that hangs still in eternity
it clings to my skin and invades my nostrils
I can reach out and grab it—I want to
I want to throw it out the front door
so it can release you from its clutches
and stop you from choking on the things
you so desperately want to say
Maybe then you would have the words
I have needed to hear for so long

Unspoken observations of timeless truths
bore mountain ranges within your chest
Unaired grievances of these truthless times
lay heavy in your hands as you grasp your throat for syllables
The roots of your garden have been buried deep in your veins
and I love the flowers that sprout and bud
from the tips of your fingers to the family tree
But the flowing ivy grows uncontrollably now
it embeds you to the red recliner
And the petals fall from your lips
My god are the blossoms beautiful
but it hurts for you to breathe