There's another eye
That believes you

And for me,

I'm trying to forget you.

Yet,

There is no tomorrow

When I know

Your sorrow

Is the same as

What I'll be feeling

Tomorrow

Brazen past lives
I'm seeing myself

For the first time.

Last in,
Last

Out.

A scream and
A

Shout.

There we climbed
The mud timber stairs
Underneath
Hairline
Whispers and academia
Manifested stares.

The last great idea
The last great illusion
The last great poet

That never was;

That could never

Do it.

There are three words that wake me up.
They ask me boldly if I’m over and out.
Those three words are “happy or sad”.

Can you guess what my answer is?
Can you see it, read it between the lines?
Any poem, you chose one of mine, maybe this?
Happy or sad?

I am looking at the night sky and the stars smile back.
They are beautiful, such as you are.
You reach out and I take your hand.
Lights appear, as if we were approached by a car.

Turn around and you’re not there to find.
And my hand, it is empty once more.
I look back at the sky and it’s dark.
There’s no light and no stars anymore.

Am I making myself super clear?
Shall I make for a new start?
I had no idea I was loved by a star.
Happy or sad?

A couple days ago
I’ve checked up on you.
I admit, even though I’ve let go,
I couldn’t miss out, had to
See your last show.

I had to know
You’re alright.
You don’t sing the bridge like you used to.
Or maybe it was just that night?
Do I care? I don’t know if I hope that you do.

Since I left, I’ve become fuller.
Therapy helps and yes, now I can see.
I was such a stupid woman.
I still am, it’s that now I can breath and just be,
I don’t break upon hearing your name.

I’ve checked up on you, I admit.
You were laughing, dancing and smiling.
I’m so glad that I did what I did.
Despite that lingering, horrible feeling
I can’t shake. I still care.
I still care.

I still care.

An eye dyed
The color black

Glares at me

From the side window.

I'm holding
A thing
Of orange juice and
I hate orange juice

But the eye dyed
The color black

Is indifferent
To my feelings.

It, they, the eye dyed
The color black

Only cares about

What I do
And, I presume,
Why I do it for reasons

The eye
Will never
Admit.

Answering why,
Would only

Make them

Us.