How sad it is to know that “Goodbye”
slips from my lips easier than any other
word in the dictionary.
How terrible it is to know that
a seven letter word,
etched with pain,
can slip so effortlessly through
raspberry colored lips.
They’ll ask me how I’m doing.
I’ll say “I’m surviving”.
But, they won’t understand that
“Goodbye” is carved into my
bones like the initials of lovers
on tree barks.
They will not understand
that the reason “Goodbye”
slips so easily from my lips
is because of a tainted childhood
that I’ve tried so hard to forget.
Maybe, just maybe, if I say it enough
it will lose all of its meaning.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
No.
Every goodbye pulls air out of my lungs
and forces a fist into my stomach.
Fire ignites in my chest and the bags
under my eyes darken.
It takes the color out of my face as if it was
never there.
While he sleeps perfectly still across town,
I will toss and turn.
Nightmares for every dream, darker bags
for every night I lay awake thinking
about the last “goodbye” to escape my
cracked lips.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
He is gone.