The Time To Sever Has Come, Big Brother. Poem by Lydia Johnson

goodbye.
goodbye.
goodbye.
goodbye.

I am sorry.
I cannot keep circling
Your grave waiting for
Your bones to resurface
so I can pick them clean.

I cannot keep holding
Your slits wrists in my hands,
Your gunshot in my ears,
Your brain and blood in my fingers,
As if that was really you.

I cannot keep waiting for
A ghost I don't believe in
On principle.

Brother
You are a rippling memory.
You're absence is becoming normal.
You are leaving me a second time.
And I want to reach out and hold on to you,
but you have no hands to grab anymore.

Goodbye.
My love was thick & tough, like we were.
But you let go first.