My grandmother died six days ago, on my birthday. Her funeral was held two days ago on my brother's birthday. Needless to say, neither of us recieved a cake or party.
I am numb, as I watched my grandmother die. I held her hand, and know exactly when she passed.
When her hand turned into meat, I knew.
Grandpa cried, kissed, and rubbed the arm of her corpse for the next hour.
Death is ugly, and my grandmother looked like a shell of herself;
her dentures out and her hair no longer permed or rolled.
I had never seen a family member die, but that wasn't what got me...
I had never seen my grandfather cry.
Checking in on my grandpa I caught him trying to close her mouth
and I lost my composure.
The whole thing has exhausted me and I find myself checking up on my grandfather daily.
No matter when I visit it is the same.
Face forward, staring towards the television,
but the T.V. isn't on.
Today I bought him a sandwich.
Four hours later he asked me if my aunt had bought it for him.
When the world turns Napoleon,
it is hard to smile and pretend it is Neopolitan.
Yet he does it for his fans.
But behind close doors he spirals into oblivion.
Deep down we all know a bird cannot fly with one wing,
nor can an angel for that matter.