I think I could handle being without her.
Even in the middle of all this.

I'm standing on a road.
It's late evening, no middle afternoon.
But it's dark.
There's a thick white fog.
There's a little oval,
Of visibility.
Dark green grass on either side.
It could lead to woods, but the fog is
So thick I can't see any trees.
Just, maybe?
A mixing of shadows that turns the fog gray.
It has to be Ireland. I keep telling her we should go.

I'm standing there
With a warped face like I'm dying.
There's a heavy
                 rusty chain.
Wrapped around the tubes on top of my heart.
There's no one pulling it.
But I'm afraid they will.
And the weak tubes will melt
                                            rip apart.
Still.
Nobody's pulling.
But the weight is constant.
I'll get used to it.
Then I move wrongly
                       abruptly
And it swings.
And it aches.
And I remember
The pain of
What's killing me.

I'm standing on this road.
And I don't know what I'm gonna do.
I could walk.
With that swinging chain.
Or wait for a car to come.
I want to tell you that I want it to
Stop. Have someone rush out full of
concern and scoop me up lovingly.
Save me.
But the fog is awful thick.
I know it is,
And I'm standing here waiting.