You
living in a land of
twinkle lights and
fluorescence all of your life.
A miniature Las Vegas
parading in your crazed head.
You painted your claws with
sherbet polish,
teased your hair,
and smoked too much.
You were a wreck
of angry stomach acid
and bleeding hangnails,
withered femur,
stunted leg.

I wonder,
does it hurt to lose
your marbles?
Or do you just notice
the absence and ponder
what had been there?
You would laugh that
manic cackle,
dance like a crippled queen.
You'd make me giggle
and clap my hands.
What was it then?
Did you want to fly?
Or did you just jump--
reaching just a bit too high
to catch the dusky sky?