Blood That Follows

Feeling directionless

Trying to find comfort in

what once was comforting

You’re here,

and you’re present,

and you’re painfully reminding me

of all that once was

I had lived through 

many plagues before I even met you,

but the ill you left me with

will stay with me much longer

I’m afraid I will be nothing more than a

member of the lost generation,

the group of children

forced to grow up too soon,

deprived of the

right pains of childhood and

given a burden much too heavy to hold

Always trying to find comfort in what was,

or what never can be

Trying to keep the necessities of life close,

but with the same grace of

holding water in your hand

Not knowing what

comfort looks like,

learning to lick the

honey of safety off knives,

and learning to enjoy the taste of

blood that follows