please don't die

red strings

i wonder when my mom grew to hate
her own baby brother;
must have been when she started to notice
the way their mother had begun
to look at him, 
planning a constellation
all centered
on his less deserving mind—
he's always had the easy way out.

it reminds me of when you send me
late night complaints about the boys
you like; they disappoint you,
that viscous trickling into
the grooves of your every day,
until in the end you have begun
to hate yourself. your ex
started dating a girl
who said she was terrified
of him. two weeks later,
you met them in the city, watching her
puddle slowly, the color of a wilting
lily and you just stood there
your insides shrunken and
shaken and you
did nothing.