Time

Time is a funny thing

How it blows through the trees

Sweeping your secrets under the rugged earth.

I cleaned under my bed this morning

Finding an old grilled cheese sandwich,

Little green aliens bathing on crusted bread.

That explains the stench in the room

Mango Passion Island Breeze a saviour, a friend.

A box with your notes, dusty and grey.

I picked one up.  June 21.  A good day.

Before the incident.  An afterthought.  Parentheses.

Like never eating cheese before bed

A way to avoid nightmares.

And then the nightmare.  You disappearing for a winter.

An alien inside of you.

But Time is a funny thing

How it blows through the trees

And I lost you that day when you fought that alien off with whatever sharp things you found in your room.

Your insides mushy and rotten like the melted cheese inside my sandwich.