I crossed my legs on the walkway's bench,
with stress streaming down my cheeks
splashing into puddles of dark remorse
of a mistake I should have never chosen.
I made my own silent ultimatum,
and your anger and sadness, both,
show that my ultimatum is pointless,
just as much as my love and care.
The river running swift seems able to carry me
to my final moments, and I'm almost willing,
and the rocks that divide the river
probably can also to me.
The only thing that allows my knees to bend,
and the only thing that allows my body to rise,
time and time again, with the current of your waters
knocking me backwards into a frenzied sea of despair,
is the hope that my own life can extend to
improve the lives of my children, my loves,
and in this way only, do I get the feeling
that maybe there's something worth living for.
I'm done feeling sorry for everything I do,
I'm done feeling that I'm just one big mistake,
I'm done feeling like it's my fault that everyone is sitting on a park bench,
with their heads tucked neatly into the palms of their hands,
and the only sound other than the killer water,
is the rapid inhale of marijuana,
and the rapid exhale of sorrow.