I’m waiting for you to be dead.

I’m waiting for you to be dead so I can stop fearing that one day soon you will die. 

One day you’ll die and leave me without fear. I know this. And it’s fucking scary.

I’m waiting for you to be dead so I can unchain your dogs

And your cows. They’ve been out to pasture long enough with their horns linked to your claims. 

You claim all of this to be yours and your stories to be true.

I tie you to your roots and I, a seedling, a limb, wish to be implanted in your side- they have the technology to do that. You can grow apples on a pear tree.

My trunk is thin, a twig, just a branch on yours.

I’m waiting for you to be dead so I don’t have to be a child anymore.

Like Christ, I’ve never had t opportunity to be truly fatherless.

I’m waiting for you to be dead so I can wail at your funeral,

Scatter throw your ashes to the wind high on a mountain, risking my own death,

facing north, the sea where I have sent my mother with the other half of you.

For this honour, 

I’m waiting for you to be dead,

I’m waiting for you to be dead so I can talk about you in the past tense.

I want your stories.

I want to be convinced that you’ve never lied to me, even though they’ve called you Liar all your life. When you were young it was a term of endearment. They say it sweetly, still.

I’m waiting for you to be dead so I can stop waiting.

It’s a useless act. There’s too much stillness in it and I feel I’ve got to move. The bones in m body ache for the pain of a long climb. I’ve been hypnotized. By the mountains, or a rouge climber. One of the two and until you die I won’t know for sure which.

So I’m waiting for you to be dead.

I’m waiting for you to be dead.

It’s a little boring, actually.

You know that better than anybody else.

Boredom lays rotting in your bowels. No matter how much a man can shit, he’ll never expel the lack (of possibilities). His immobility bores him- but not to death.

I’m waiting for you to be dead so you can ski instead of playing solitaire. For five years you dealt a single hand. It seems you’ve forgotten how to play was, otherwise you’d be dead by now. Shear dumb luck.

I’m waiting for you to be dead so fantasies of your dead won’t come to me anymore. It feels really sick and I don’t know who I am when it happens. I’m so fucking sorry,

But I’m waiting for you to be dead.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.