Once a connection is lost,
they are severed from you
forever;
you can’t light the end of a burnt out match stick,
you can’t burn the bonfire
after it’s been hosed down
the second time.

None of that matters
when you’re half way down the Rabbit hole
watching the patterns
flashing through your mind,
and you just heard
someone promising
in a such genuine tone,
“I’ll always be down this way.”

But
you see the thing is,
I know
better than that now
and
so will you,
in time.

No matter where Nature drags
your rotting bones
it's stored in a safe black box
hidden under the stars,
or in some special place
at the back of your wardrobe
where (you think) no one
can ever go.

The lesson is to
look
before you fall.

To play the blues
before they play you.