Last Ones Out

• Amelie Cream, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2022

the ill-fated relics of our stories in this countryside - the ones we
couldn’t tell , or if you wanted to, you would’ve,
flicker sleazily past like a looming scene of an old hollywood film.
when the death-ridden, ivy-slated train howls “choo-choo”, it possesses
me to drunkenly eye the open chasm of the bleary windows and remember
the captivating kiss of despair himself, even through the pitch, endless
cloak of the neglected midnight skies. you meant for me to remember this
uncharted canal of touch. the haloed eyes. the rich, betraying last words.
yearned, even. and isn’t it funny? proposing that i own your glasses,
you were quite aware of my fatal flaw of timid eyesight. but now, please,
please, please, i want them back. i’d again cherish the solidity of those
alluring handles in my two hands because i don’t see the soulless carving
of your face and it now develops only more overcast in my whirlwind of a mind
and the bare presence of time feels as if it has been once ceased. i since wonder
– is it my malevolent line of vision, or has the afterlife spirit of myself begun
its tormenting process of forgetting you? and me. wraiths buried of love.