
Your lips are curled
nostrils tight, your eyes are
blazing a hellish burn
Your tongue is tattered
your skin is a blue-yellow
when I see, hear, smell you
I wish I could still cry for you
I do not recognize the person
you used to be when we
rode our bikes along quiet roads
played hopscotch with chalk and pebbles
laughed for the same silly reasons
or no reason at all
But that person, my sister, my friend
is gone, lost in a haze of your own doing
I tried to reach through to you
grab your fingertips and never let go
but you pulled me and pushed me
away, away, away until I could
no longer wage the battle for you
for both of us, for your children
I had to watch you disappear
into a skeleton's frame
Gone is the sparkle, lost is
how you used to scintillate
inspire, create magic
There is only your madness
left now, not even a fragment
of who you used to be
to cling to for hope
it is so frightening
to bear witness
to your destruction
Nadine
(Note: This is a work of fiction, loosely based on women I have known/know.)

















Comments: 32
Thank you for reading and for your feedback.
Laced with compliments was a nice thing, not a mean thing.
I appreciate you feel comfortable to tell me what you think, but I felt like you were being pushy. I accept constructive criticism on my writing, but not side notes or what I feel important to share or do. That's my freedom of expression and I guard those boundaries perhaps a bit to ferociously.
John, yes, it is fiction because this is not about my sister and neither of my sisters are Nadine. Unfortunately there is much truth here, however.
Thank you, my friend.
It's the same with our kids...we try to keep them from making the same mistakes we made...but often they are convinced they know best... There is no smugness...only sadness when the epiphany hits one day and they realize we could have saved then hurt or pain if only they had listened...
Thank you submitting to Gathers Luminous Writers and Artists. Now featured.
I have lost a brother, my son, and now, my young sister. You write to me.
I mentioned that I was already aware of both writers, had read some of what they wrote in the past, and that I would revisit them. I also agreed that they are good writers. So I don't believe that you took Crin's message as he meant to convey it. He appreciates your writing, and I don't believe he was trying to tell you how or what you should teach either. I thought you might like to know that he had gone to the trouble to recommend that I read your poetry.
Anyway, since I'm here, this is another example of your good writing. Although no reflection of its quality, much of what you write is slightly too melodramatic for my taste, but for the audience that is attracted to that type of feeling, it's very good, I think.
"when I see, hear, smell you
I wish I could still cry for you"
Those words, especially the unexpected word, smell, drive your poem.
And then the reader wonders what does, "I wish I could still cry for you..." mean.
I like that all questions not answered, where we apply our own life experience to interpete the situation.