TRAGIC Poem: Bad Taste, by Svea Jones

Routine was you.
Sleeping,
I coddled in the blankets you slept in
I saw you in my dreams.
Eating,
I consumed the things you loved
I took satisfaction in being fed.
Showering,
I soaked in the smells you took after
I treated my body to the clothes you gave
me.

Routine was once you.
Now that you are gone,
I am met with uncalled for reminders
and seek pieces of you,
through friends and motions of everyday.

And in spite,
Sleeping,
I deprive myself of rest,
to be reminded less.
I toss the covers to the other side,
which was once yours.
Brushing teeth,
I scrub the reminders of our last meal
together
I floss you out of my teeth.
Brushing my hair,
I let the bristles collect dust,
where your hair is still tangled.

Showering,
I rub my skin raw,
with uncented soap.
I want to throw on your shirt anyways,
but anger dresses me now.

And with eyes puffy and lips fiery
I drap it’s burs over my shoulders,
and pile your gifts in a corner of my room.

Routine is now me.
I must learn again to do it myself
To find happiness in the mundane
and care for myself rather than caring for
you.

I am no longer walking with you,
But walking beside you.
As inscrutable as it is,
I must embrace it.