american campground wilderness

My Grandpa is dying.
The Parkensons has eaten away at his neurons.
Heapos;s been dying for a couple years now.
Ever since Grandma left...

I have to visit him even though he doesnapos;t remember me.
Like all good Seymourapos;s he pretends like he remembers.
He pretends it is all okay.
I hope he dies soon.
Heapos;s been lonely since Grandma left; he misses her.
Iapos;m sure heapos;s confused: how would it feel to not remember your own grandchildren?
Iapos;m sure heapos;s in pain.
It would make him happier to be dead.
My uncle Tom is in denial.
He needs to let him go.

There is something I need
that I havenapos;t had in a long time.
I canapos;t ask though.
The words wouldnapos;t be able to leave my lips.

Iapos;m going to that place again.
I can say itapos;s the chemicals.
I will say itapos;s the holes too.
I may also allude to the short circuits.

I spoke too soon.
I need to practice keeping my lips sealed
and my fingers idle.

I will keep my head above the water
until no one is looking.
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