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Diet Coke and Cigarettes
She walks the familiar walk to nowhere,
raindrops falling at the speed of light.
His voice is playing in her mind from the dorm room to the gym.
Why do you do these things to yourself, Pumpkin?
A treadmill takes her away
as she remembers her quiver from his touch.
You can’t keep doing this, Sweetheart.
He gives her a pad of paper with lines too small
for all the words her blood has already written.
Use this as your canvas, Peanut.
It’s much better than flesh.
Erasable.
She tears the paper but feels nothing;
his voice playing in her mind.
Don’t do this to yourself, Honey.
It’s still raining, she’s still running.
She remembers her trust in his words
so many years ago.
Live in the present.
It’s invincible.
He walks behind her now,
no longer beside her to whisper in her ear.
Daddy, your Diet Coke and cigarettes are just as bad
as razorblades and treadmills.
She burns her books, he tosses his carton into the garbage.
They walk the familiar walk to nowhere,
raindrops falling at the speed of light.
Razorblades and soda pop
cigarettes and poetry.
