It took some time
To convince myself
That you don't exist.
The laughter,
The anger,
The sadness that secretly consumed you.
Everything that made you,
Doesn't exist.
The fear in your eyes,
The cuts on your body,
Hands clenched, gasping for air while
The drugs soared through your veins;
The hospital,
The funeral,
The burial
All of that was real?
The smile that could span miles,
The glazed eyes that told so many stories,
The creative mind that once captivated the world
doesn't exist.
And all that's left are the memories
That torture, consume and, on occasion,
Bring joy to my mind.
It's all surreal