You were convulsing in the next room,
so I lay awake in bed;
prayed to a God I don't believe in,
so that he may keep you safe.
I could hear my father's fingers
carve their way into the wood of your door frame;
mother shaking,
as your eyes rolled back into your head again.

Just as we thought death would prevail,
febrile response gave way to pale,
cavities to fingernails,
anxiety had left me frail.
But I felt then as I feel now,
despite the detriment you've faced,
it is your warmth that's made me proud.
Though I barely remember,
it was you who smoothed my ache
in the depth of my depression,
I thought my life was mine to take.

But I am forever in your debt
for things that you could never say;
all the love that I have felt,
you gave, with no intention to take.
I am as the moon,
any affection that my glow is the subject of,
belongs to you.
For I am nothing more than a reflection of you,
and your love.