I am waiting for you.
I have been since your last call;
the last words that left your lips,
the way they shaped each sound,
crisp with feeling;
the last hold I received,
warm hands withdrawn into the cold.
And now I’m busy playing your constant, forever
eternal mind games;
waiting for an end I know has to happen,
and waiting for you to make your moves and marks,
haunting mistakes or gracious choices,
whatever they happen to be in your mind.
And now I’m busy holding my heart in my hands,
watching all the people pass me waiting on the ***** street,
feeling awkward,
feeling stood up,
nursing it from the rain
and polluted breaths of people eyeing off my treasure,
smoke steaming from gaping mouths and sharp exhales,
like cascades of shining gems and mounds of
glorious entitlements, rolling down dreams
to those huddled beneath the city lights.
And now I’m busy deciding how long to keep
holding it.
Or to place it back inside it’s chest;
to thrum and pulse alone regardless, because I told it to.
And now I’m busy trying to adjust,
to leave this alone,
move my feet and leave my post,
waiting for you.
Keeping me and you alive is exhausting.
Draining nuture and tears, touches and examinations
to check that we are ok.
Are we ok?
I haven’t heard from you in weeks, but
you said you would be here.
To tell me your answer.
To make all this relentless pressure in my skull,
tension in my body
go away.
What happened to you not being the bad guy?
Like everyone who trailed crumbs of running-out love,
driving to me though the gas tank has finite space,
and held out commitment as they cowered behind it.
I haven’t heard from you.
And I desperately need to hear from you.
Should I stay, or should I go?
Are we meeting halfway, or are you expecting me to walk to you?
But I’m not.
I haven’t heard from you.
And I don’t know if I want to anymore.
Or whether I should just make this stop.
Whether I should stop denying it, and commence the
pain that stems with loneliness myself.
To be honest with myself that it is what I have to feel.
To escape from you.
And let myself
breathe and mouth the words
‘I miss you’
to the empty air.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
I am waiting for you.
I have been since your last call;
the last words that left your lips,
the way they shaped each sound,
crisp with feeling;
the last hold I received,
warm hands withdrawn into the cold.
And now I’m busy playing your constant, forever
eternal mind games;
waiting for an end I know has to happen,
and waiting for you to make your moves and marks,
haunting mistakes or gracious choices,
whatever they happen to be in your mind.
And now I’m busy holding my heart in my hands,
watching all the people pass me waiting on the ***** street,
feeling awkward,
feeling stood up,
nursing it from the rain
and polluted breaths of people eyeing off my treasure,
smoke steaming from gaping mouths and sharp exhales,
like cascades of shining gems and mounds of
glorious entitlements, rolling down dreams
to those huddled beneath the city lights.
And now I’m busy deciding how long to keep
holding it.
Or to place it back inside it’s chest;
to thrum and pulse alone regardless, because I told it to.
And now I’m busy trying to adjust,
to leave this alone,
move my feet and leave my post,
waiting for you.
Keeping me and you alive is exhausting.
Draining nuture and tears, touches and examinations
to check that we are ok.
Are we ok?
I haven’t heard from you in weeks, but
you said you would be here.
To tell me your answer.
To make all this relentless pressure in my skull,
tension in my body
go away.
What happened to you not being the bad guy?
Like everyone who trailed crumbs of running-out love,
driving to me though the gas tank has finite space,
and held out commitment as they cowered behind it.
I haven’t heard from you.
And I desperately need to hear from you.
Should I stay, or should I go?
Are we meeting halfway, or are you expecting me to walk to you?
But I’m not.
I haven’t heard from you.
And I don’t know if I want to anymore.
Or whether I should just make this stop.
Whether I should stop denying it, and commence the
pain that stems with loneliness myself.
To be honest with myself that it is what I have to feel.
To escape from you.
And let myself
breathe and mouth the words
‘I miss you’
to the empty air.
