You check her heartbeat every half hour.
You watch her chest rise and fall.
You forgot what it means to get a
full night’s sleep back when it was
your brother or your mother lying next to
you in place of the girl you fell for last year.
You still lie awake creating escape plans for
everyone in your house in case of a fire or
robber or serial killer breaking down the
fragile walls housing your security.
You still check every door and window and
your chances of surviving the
jump if there was that need.
You still wake up twenty minutes after
closing your eyes and go from
room to room ensuring that no one is
dead in their beds.
You still plan out every
negative event your imagination could think of so
you can find the right shield and
weapons to fight it off.
You still have trouble sleeping,
crippled with the reality of
unconscious helplessness.
Crippled with the thought of
remaining that
hopeless child you might
never be able to

Published by

Nic Rasmussen

A Brooklyn-based poet who has a lot of feelings and writes about them quite often.

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