Yes Mr. Hemingway you are right.
I have sat at this desk
and bled, but how much must I bleed
before I can cry?

All this time I have been distant,
and confused the stockpiling of distance
with strength. Pain, blinded me:
I could not see that instead I was building on weak foundations.
Everything collapsed.

Now I am strength-less and can break nothing,
and not myself.
I want so desperately to break these banks
which hold poisoned-water; to cleanse my mind
with my body. But they move awkwardly
past each other-
as if they were once close friends who have since drifted apart.
I need them to say:
Hey my friend
I have missed you;
why did we stand by and watch such a beautiful thing suffocate,
and die?
I need them to hold each other,
in an embrace to bring back to life all lost embraces - heads
in each other's shoulders,
as if heads and shoulders were only ever for this moment.
I need them to cry: relentlessly;
not a moment spared
for Sorry;
tears say enough.