Harping on a theme (too soon)

Scene from 1983:

Me: I don’t think I’ll live to be 25.
Mom: Don’t say that.

1997
7 a.m.  on a Sunday morning :

Dad on phone: She’s gone.
Me: It’s too soon. Don’t say that.

It was you, it was you
gone too soon
so cliché
pardon me if I don’t
come up with
golden lines
at times like this

I would say you were
ripped from us
but it was more like
a fade-to-black
with screaming
your face melting
into the wallpaper

Don’t go yet
it was supposed to be me
hanging out with Peter and Paul
you, oh you
were supposed to earn
your old age in your rooms
in your house
beneath the pines

“Too long ago to write death fresh like this.”

 

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