until they do

you never think 

these things happen 

to you

they are always in 

other people’s headlines. 

they happen to 

neighbours, seniors, 

maybe even close kin,

but these horrors 

never will spin within 

your heart’s inn. 

until.

they do.

they happen to you.

in your tender years of twenty

you’re bending over 

kissing your best friend's ice cold forehead 

as she lays sunken 

into the white fabric of a coffin. 

you awkwardly hug her body 

that now is stuck 

in this unfriendly, wooden box.

you pluck flowers from her casket spray. 

and stand and stare. 

you stare at her eyes,

wondering how to survive

without seeing their blue contact. 

you stare at the glue 

that now holds her lips together,

as you hesitantly hold the fact,

her mouth will never again say

goofiness, glimmers, and grace. 

there she lay,

with so many words unspoken. 

the now makeup caked face so swollen,

no honest reflection

of her earth-beauty complexion.

we stand bearing grief infection

and a whole lot of bulky questions. 

her hair is still like her though. 

so you glide your fingers slow

through the dirty blonde locks.

and sense your tightening stomach

forming knots. 

you stare

at the now lifeless form 

that once did life with you.

you never think 

these things happen 

to you

until. 

they do.