As I witness
the person responsible
for the triubles in my piss
of a life, my sister, the problem that was inavoidable,
slip away, I can only wonder and guess.
I wonder, was
it truly I who
made her feel alive and not some sick speck of dust,
even with her illness and wounds,
and even now, as the life drains from herlike water from a sink with rust.
She says I have, (As I took a breath,)
given her a blessing,
a merciful death,
by confronting my inner demon unresting.
But I wonder,"Have I truly forgiven myself?", as I sit in a couch of leather.
In a world
where she is free
to do everything she couldn't, as she nearly hurled,
she tells me to forgive myself, and be me.
As it's her dying wish- I must fulfill it, and so I shall.