Everybody moves on.
I keep holding on.
Vice grip blues.
I hold onto you, but you never turned your head to see me.
We thought on the same plane, I existed once
maybe that was my defect. Seems personal now.
But it’s not your problem, you just kept walking
into the sun- or maybe an impasse and then a rest stop to thank the ground for keeping pace
I wanted you to wait for me. I could hear the shuffle of feet
You never said goodbye.
You never told me you’d miss me.
The days stretched into years.
I’m still waiting here.
Posted in Depression, Poetry, Relationships, Uncategorized Tagged blog, friendship, goodbye, holding on, letting go, life, poetry, regret, sadness, Sorrow, sorry, yesterday
What did you want to hear? “Oh, you’re ok?” Well, that’s not true.
Will you enable me one more day? The consequence is- I will let you go.
But I can’t see how, you left me down- when the first taste, hit me and left me cold.
You’ve been steered on, past the default. Where the silence, spilled into the void
And the liquid hits the veins, and the mind comes alive.
You can’t take it back the next day, when there’s nothing left.
and I don’t know any other way…
When the Giving Tree decided to take- it found out there was nothing worth having, the fate of all its past seasons and falling leaves, fell too late.
And you swore I’d get a second chance, but that was overturned 100x’s—
all my apologies fake.
Just an endless negative trail of “sorry”– that word is as meaningless as “hello” when despondency leads to dead ends.
Hey Jon. do you remember that time we laughed until the sky appeared soft, molded by the brazen captivity of a 9-5?
We always worked until 6 or 7 anyway.
How was I supposed to know that the fleeting hours had constraints? We wouldn’t count on each other forever??
Maybe it was only me that needed you.
The need to siphon and spit out exhaust. Feeding the endorphins caught in circulation; awaiting captivity. Anxious for release.
I don’t know what a gift is. I just steal from under the tree,
Regardless of what day, minus holidays and birthdays- no present will fill the void, no ego posed for stroke or accolade.
No stump awaiting me.