Your Deep Rest

"so while your fixing up your bed, so while your organizing drawers, could you just listen to the problems had with problems of yours, and what's that note you're writing there?, why are you giving me this back?, this was a gift from when we met back when you weren't so upset" I called in sick from your funeral. The sight of your body made me feel uncomfortable. I couldn't recognize your shell.  

Your branching off had met an end from all the weight that made you bend, and when you tried to shed your leaves you pined for warmth as they said "Your lack of love for your dear self is sapping all of us here out. Trace your roots back to the ground. Work out the knotholes for yourself." I called in sick from your funeral. The sight of your family made me feel responsible.

And I found the notes you left behind, little hints and helpless cries, desperate wishing to be over.

You said your trapped in your body and getting deeper everyday.
They diagnosed you born that way. They say it runs in your family.
A conscious erasure of working class background where despair trickles down
Imbalanced chemical crutch open up swallow down 
You said "remember me for me. I need to set my spirit free."

I called in sick to your funeral. Tradition of closure nearly felt impossible. I should have never kept my word to you. Not a cry/not a sound. Might have learned how to swim but never taught how to drown, you said "remember me for me". I watched you set your spirit free.