16:42 after PRN Ativan.
I sit there
Watching the child—
A half dead battery
Resting in between two copper coils
in the back of a television remote.
I thank god he’s sleeping this long;
Because it means I get to sit longer.
Stare longer.
A blade of grass balancing
a single drop of dew
until the sun burns it away.
When he is awake,
He is a boy diagnosed as
Chaotic neutral
Who feeds off the pain of others—
voiceless and smiling
So I sit in the corner,
Trying to stave the child off from
the perceiving half of life
— a piece of duct tape
holding down the power button,
“off”.
I am here to keep him safe,
They told me
Here to stop him from hurting
(Himself)
But mostly others.
When he is awake,
He is a boy who needs to be restrained
So I let him sleep.
Him coiled
and I, taped.
So he can be there in his bed
Untethered. (Safe).
I tell myself these things:
I’m generous with my time
I’m not grateful for the drugs that sedate him
That I am chivalrous,
Yes. I am a valiant protector.
I convince myself that I do not find joy,
In the absence of another life.
As I sit here
Still. Hoping the boy does not wake up.
