You couldn’t let him go after he died. Your baby. Your last child. Your guilt.
You wrapped him in grief and swallowed him. You wouldn’t let him leave.
He was that toilet paper trailing your footsteps. He was the string between the doorknob and your teeth.
He festered in the hole he left inside you when he died. He became a cancer.
He killed you.
Now you are both on the other side. A side between heaven and hell. A station with no bus, no train, no plane. A path with no end. A hallway with no doors.
You are together again.
Isn’t that wonderful.
Whenever my brothers and I spent time with our mother, she always said, "Isn't it wonderful that we're together?"
published in Scuzzbucket
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