funny how you're broken yet
the world keeps turning
and the ants keep marching.
already life has accepted this,
long before it happened,
even if it wouldn't happen.
we'll kick and fight
but the world turns on,
and the ants march on.
funny how you're never really
broken, just rearranged.

I love your story.
your arms, your eyes, funny face.
i pause and wonder.

there comes a point of such desperation
and need for what you can't quite name

there comes an step that is the just one too far
you cannot lift your feet again

there is the last stream you cannot cross.
you are spent and finished and
done trying for you're not quite sure what.

no more. just, no more,
turn your back on everything
walk away scathed, loathed, and
incredibly drunk if need be.

whatever it takes to do whatever
is going to make you happy again
put the tears back and pull up
the curtains of your thirtysomething ivories

i am sorry sorry sorry
(too many apologies mean nothing's left)
and no one can give you back what's gone.