The Death of Something (Epilogue to Herbivore)

The colors fade as I walk towards the Koret Recreation Center, it’s almost spring break

Somehow, I feel weak, but I’m fully awake.

I talk to myself on the way to the door. Something I’ve gotten used to by now; it’s not even under my breath anymore

Practically at full volume, though far from a yell.

I’ve seen people start to take notice.

Ever since they disappeared it wasn’t as easy to take care of myself, but I think starting the semester alone is what hit the hardest.

It’s a funny thing, seeing the shelf where your roommate kept his notebooks, medicine, clay sculptures, track cleats, so many things that made him who he was, now filled with items of your own.

No longer a bed, just a mattress.

No longer his plants, just an empty windowsill

No longer the conversations we’d have. However brief they may have been, we still talked.

It wasn’t always much, but we still talked.

Even on the days he started to barely speak to anyone, he was still there.

Why didn’t he tell me anything? I thought I was open and honest to him. Did he not trust me?

Or was he just too scared?

I wake up, I eat, I sleep, and I wake again in this house, this husk, this room, this box, this kennel.

And the barking silence bounces off the walls, scraping flakes off my mind like a razor

I feel sick. I feel feeble. I feel complacent with where I am.

The state of my mind constantly on display, for all to see.

Whatever state that may be

I feel like I’m dying

This is part of my ongoing transfer of poetry from my notes app to a place where perhaps it can connect with others. As always, constructive criticism and discussion is welcome. - SG