"My head's a whirlwind" you said.
And I was at the centre.
Blown apart by gale forces, we were,
Without escape, rendered
Crippled. We had to be
Euthanised, so you say.
Whatever happened to
A brand new page
To the chronicles of us?
There was no ink
That blotched this page.
Who was to think
A whole pen cartridge would snap
And spill tar black paint
On this clean white page?
And then you hesitate
To wipe away the river
On the paper, and streaming
Down, from your eyes,
Tinged like the ink, screaming
At me, no words being spoken.
Your salty cheeks
Were never neat. But the eye
Of the storm, is a quiet place to be.
It wasn't the decision that hurt.
It was the reaction of inaction.
And the now set in feeling
That I was never more than a distraction.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
"My head's a whirlwind" you said.
And I was at the centre.
Blown apart by gale forces, we were,
Without escape, rendered
Crippled. We had to be
Euthanised, so you say.
Whatever happened to
A brand new page
To the chronicles of us?
There was no ink
That blotched this page.
Who was to think
A whole pen cartridge would snap
And spill tar black paint
On this clean white page?
And then you hesitate
To wipe away the river
On the paper, and streaming
Down, from your eyes,
Tinged like the ink, screaming
At me, no words being spoken.
Your salty cheeks
Were never neat. But the eye
Of the storm, is a quiet place to be.
It wasn't the decision that hurt.
It was the reaction of inaction.
And the now set in feeling
That I was never more than a distraction.
Happy anniversary.