The trip

The trip

She and I, we went on a trip.

Down where the litchis reside.

I slept my way through it.

Each time I woke up, 

She was on a different side.

But she knew exactly

Which side I wanted her on.

She caressed my hair,

So I started telling her all the things I regretted losing my love,

For my mother, my father, my talents,

My friends, my childhood,

Some butter, some rasgulla

And a guitar.

I wished I could go back 

To where it started 

Where I knew exactly what I wanted.

Where I had labels for everything.

Labels she prepared, for 

My pens, my pencils

My notebooks, my shoes,

My goals, my dreams

And me.

I felt like the Ladybug.

But then the labels were replaced,

By molds and breaks and cuts,

It's been ages since it set in.

The mold is nearly totally gone.

But the cuts?

They never seem to leave,

Glowing bright red on each birthday.

She listened. She listened and said,

'I knew all about your chips, never 

Your breaks'

I wondered if she was sad about her labels

Forever buried, never to return.

I asked her so.

' I wish you held on to those,

They were once mine'

But I wished

To have put it on boxes rather than people.

I told her of everything that scared me

Existing, dark

Not growing up, not finding love,

Ghosts, rats, snakes

And lizards.

She said,

' I'll be here, sleep my dear'.

I only hoped she could keep her word.

But I never did wake up,

On any side again.

She kept caressing my hair,

But I never told her anything again.

Except releasing a breath that sounded like,

'sorry'.