Little Things Die Inside

Just like cigarette smoke, 

blood rushing to your head 

is still romantic, right? 

Aimee Mann can play while 

doing a health sponsored activity, right? 

Do people really remember hugging their dads? 

Does “dad” lose all will to mean well 

when he’s still out terrorizing the townsfolk? 

Wait, 

that’s me again. 

He and I have lived about the same amount lived. 

Living, living, living, life.

I miss the weekday baby smell. 

Holding a hand that needs yours 

to hold onto more. 

Is this considered a power imbalance? 

Romanticizing incessantly 

then putting all hopes and dreams 

onto all the little things 

coming out of us 

for good or for bad?