Knock,
The front door’s unlock.
Kiss,
Who is he to miss?
Stepping through into the hallway,
Empty hearted, mature and dismay,
Eyes cried shut tight,
Searching with all his might,
For the people who’ve done him no wrong,
Because that’s where he thinks he belongs.
In the arms of bliss,
Hoping he’d never end up like this,
Wrecked up bone bag,
With nothing left to show for brag,
But blue devils seeping like sand from a sieve,
And only apologies left to give,
To no one, to everyone,
For all or for none.
Photo frames full of headless him,
Next to strangers his memory stretched thin,
To lies the boys and girls threw his way,
That lost his thoughts, his kind heart yesterday.
Today, tomorrow,
Every season sings its sorrow.
Made kind to his mind,
And rotted in due time.
Still he reaches through his phone,
Down a list of numbers that makes him feel more alone,
Numbers and names that haven’t been recently called,
Fear and insanity, friendships stalled.
He wonders, he questions why?
No wonder, they call but no reply.
Sinking into his bed,
His eyes fall wake less slumber to voices in his head.
“It’s just today,” he says, “tomorrow might not be the same,”
“And if it is then I am sure to blame.”