By now…

Ironic theme of life

The moment i think it’s going somewhere

You’re on my side

The moment i finally think i can be happy

The moment that i finally believe it’s very possible to be at peace

You let me down

Do i blame myself for believing?

Or do I blame all the others who tell me to believe in you?

I would have thought by now

You would see the pain I’m in

The misery that cripples my soul

That your mercy so supposedly infinite would also be more far reaching

More likely to heal than watch me fall apart…

Time i am thine slave

Time i am thine slave

I fester when you are languorous

I flummox when you flee

I flinch each time you leap

I fidget each time you wane

I rarely forgive you for not following my whims

How do i miss pretending?

It’s funny really

I missed you when I had you:

I missed all the things you did

For those fleeting charged moments

Then I missed how you seemed to

forget you were ever like that.

And now you’re not mine

(Not that you ever promised to be)

If anything you promised that was the

one thing you never could be…

And so what do i feel now?

How do you miss something you

never had?

How do you miss someone when you

were the one that wanted to let go?

How am i stronger?

How am i strong

When I’m still submitting to weaknesses?

Brushing away the nagging feeling

That things are not alright

That they can be better

But it’s in my hands.

How am I stronger

When I still am not able

To make the right

And cut my losses

To shape my life

The way it should be?

The way i so want it to be…

So much more

It’s not enough

Your tender kisses

Your tight tight hugs

It’s not enough

As I only exist

When I’m right in front of you

Your pleasantness imbues only the time presently shared

Yet the moment we are apart

No longer do i matter

No longer am i wanted

We don’t need each other

That we both know

But maybe it’s not enough

Or maybe I realize… I want so much more….

A fatal brush

The ants continue to swarm
colluding, confiding
in whatever it is that’s rotting.

Something still awaits to
announce itself
its stench is lost to me.

Do they know of their doom?

of the broom that looms?

their scattered demise in one fall swoop?

A fatal brush,
A bristled death.
I look away
let them crawl away
let their beady bodies
cluster in writhing clues.