The Summer Of Stolen Days

These past few months,
haven't even been mine

They've been taken over,
by the five stages of grief,
and an unsettled stomach,
rumbling with ricocheting leftovers

My stolen days,
have consisted of cafeteria salads,

with limp lettuce and browning carrots,

and crowded hospital rooms,
that smelled of latex gloves and anticipation,

and muffled shoulder kisses,
knowing that it could be the last one

So don't tell me,
that I'm "looking down",
because this has been,
The Summer Of Stolen Days,
and I am merely trying to make up,
for what and who I have lost