Dog

As depressing as it may seem,
The only thing keeping me alive is my dog.
The only thing between me and dying is my dog.

Why is that, you may ask?
Well, I remember when my Grandma died.
She looked everywhere.
Stuck her wet nose onto my face, curious to know,
Why was I sobbing?

For the first month, she was clueless.
Why wasn't Grandma back yet?
She chewed on her old slippers,
She slept on the blanket she accidentally left behind that still had the scent of her Avon perfume.

Why wasn't Grandma back?
"I miss cuddling with her," she thinks
"Where is Grandma?" she questions.

She'll never know why Grandma isn't back.
I hope she won't have to wonder why I'm not.