My Dead Sister

It's been a couple of years now, nearly. One and a half about. How could you do this to me?

I remember the hazel turning green. I remember the hazel turning green. I remember you wanted them green so bad, I remember your stupidly cute face, in no way at all actually stupid, probably a brilliance no diamond can think of. Shards in my teeth, shards for teeth. I can't tell the difference when I'm under the covers again. 

We had EVERYTHING. We had the entire earth to ourselves, drenched in childhood traumas, old homes, hideaways, heroines, the lot of it.

I remember him asking me what I could see, and through the hazy coughing sprouted flowers and thick buds of thought I saw, in my mind's eye, the saddest ghost I had ever seen. I couldn't identify her. All I could see was her long brown hair and a huge eyeball sticking out of her half-jaw. Her lanky body covered in stonewash denim and a heap of cable-knit. Blood and teeth were everywhere. I should have known, I was sixteen.

Anyway, that's what I told him I could see. You could imagine the look on his face through the smoke, the red smoke- or was that my fading vision- I know what to do. 

Then I remember him asking me for more. And through the tongue slips and saliva exchange of sweaty palms and ankle blood, I gave him another. Was it plastic? Somehow colorful and see-through. 

The ghost said one thing that night. She said "now she feels it," and looked me dead in the eye with a somehow, figurative furrowed brow, since she didn't have any. It took her twelve seconds to dissipate. It felt like I was disappearing, not her. Her cold, dead space in the middle of the room let me know I had really, truly met my first demon. And I couldn't believe I was calling her a demon, because I knew that goddamn b***h. I knew her like nobody else did. I knew because she was me. 

I know what to do. I'll wait on this side of the ocean for a little boat with a pale dead figure and a lantern, coming my way, and it takes fifteen minutes to reach shore because it keeps flipping over, and I haven't got the patience to wait for this stupid goddamn boat, but I have to because I love the person in it. And I celebrate her more in her death than in her life. God bless.