One Day

There might come a time, on some lonely and cold evening
When you feel your life had no meaning
You were never nothing in her mind

I hope one day you can remember
After all the chills colder than December
You were the field she could unwind

When on shoulders death you take to leaning
And so to life desperately clinging
You were the reason her wing refined

So if you fall to death not believing
Until an angel comes intervening
She’ll be the hand you fall behind

© Delia Ross. 2020 / @poeeternal

Death and dying brings out so many emotions. When facing mortality, those big questions on the purpose of life come about, and often the non-religious will find comfort in religion. A lot of atheist will find God in the end and this actually happened to one of my favorite bands, Peter Steele, who found God in his end. You can watch videos of him talking about it on YouTube and read about it in articles. I still have a hard time listening to Type O Negative since Peter Steele died and they’ve been one of my favorite bands since I was 16. He was only 48 when he died. I’m 42. Welp. This is my last decade. I will not make it to 50. At this point surviving 2020 will be a fucking miracle.

I still don’t know if I said what I was trying to say because I was busy crying and blowing my nose.

I was trying to say that you saved my life and gave it meaning, when all the world had shunned me away on my darkest days.

I was trying to say something like, ‘you were there for me in my end, so I’ll be there for you in yours’ (whether by faded memory, poetry, or physical form).

Slept in me makeups and then washed it all off with me tears.

When you think that your life doesn’t matter, remember that you made mine matter. You gave me sight and purpose. You opened my soul. You saved one of God’s precious angels.

I can’t write like the greats but we are definitely a modern day Romeo and Juliet. 😭😭😭

Wait… Except, nothing you write is for me so just forget everything I just said… brain injury > fantasy head

You make me write the most ridiculous, mushy poetry though. It’s all relative (see what I just did). You matter.

I forever heart you.

If this damn disease doesn’t kill me something will. I just wish I could be hearing your stories in my end, or at the very least, your heartbeat (with my head on your chest as I take my final breath). Not asking for much, am I? 😫😭😭😭

If this is your first time coming to my blog, I’m pretty certain I have better pictures and videos of me than of me crying. But whatev.

My writing career is going to go one of two ways, either I’m going to keep doing it or I’m going to pack it all in. If you’d like to support me, you know where and how. I’m still past due on bills and need to eat but whatever.

Laughing stock of zee world…