Poem of Growing Up #5: Old Slimes
I wish you a belated merry christmas.
New year's knocing on your door, and yet you're still
thinking of the clothes you used to wear,
its warmth, its enclosing grip
eroded with the slime that used to stanin you.
Have we gone back to a point where we once succumbed?
You promise me you won't return,
So put your hands beside my eyes, Dad, and keep me walking straight.
Hug me tight so i can't move.
I'd rather die in your arms
then stranded in death's kiss