They were held to a lampshade by a bulky clip that couldn’t quite fit the contours
it came undone constantly sending the crumbling, crunchy reminders of a casket to the ground. wrinkled, purple, pink and weak. remnants he couldn’t find a way for his fingers to put in a final place to be taken away, he left them to become the carpet. always around never restored like his neighbors kitten and the reason he is bitten and unwilling to let anyone through the door. it was only a few weeks ago they were fresh, fully bloomed masking the death stink sounds that filled a room where two people gathered to say goodbye she didn’t let people see her lip curl cry, the wrinkled eyes when laughing at guys who came through a box on top of stacked crates. he had to visit. duty calls when shit filled sheets are easier to change than to imagine being rolled around in. the final guilt, he’d trip his way through the door her cursing leading him to the drawer, a costume change and soup once more it’s nothing now. she fell asleep, snow inches deep he couldn’t find a way. she sat days. opening the door her lies and filth filled his eyes. calls were made. expenses paid. two people cared enough to parade through the alley to grab a bottle and say goodbye to their mom.