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The Way We Found You
December 15, 2014
The chair you sat in every night lies empty now.
It still smells of beer and guilt.
No one has the nerve to take your place.
I wish someone told me.
But the syringe in your arm that night said enough.
There is an image in my mind of a man passed out,
A weeping girl,
And a far too familiar situation.
The chair I found you in has not been filled.
I do not know who will be next.
© Katie T., Hull, MA
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I feel this piece has always been in the back of my mind. Begging to come out. It would just never come out the right way. But it is finally here.