she tells me "come later."
her eyes, a gloomy hue of mahogany
look down to the ground
helpless

i smile
even though i know
the dirt she's hiding behind
such meek expression

maybe in Neverland
we could have been
happily in limbo
for generations to cheer

we could have bathed in our
youth; we need not worry
it would be she and i
and pixie dust
and a millions ways to fly

but we are grounded to this
law of physics and
logic and biology
and no matter what she does

she knows she can't hide
her dying eyes nor her
wrinkling face nor her
sagging cheeks nor her
violent coughs and

"come later," she may say
but a second glimpse two seconds after
may be enough to see
the needles she
depends on

with life
comes death
comes pain
comes depression
comes you
comes death

and they all live happily ever after...