I call you 7 times,
It’s my lucky number, wishing you’ll pick up this time
It keeps ringing, and I can see the shadows of doubt reaching for me, crossing the fine line
You finally pick it up; I heave a sigh that I didn’t know I was holding
I tentatively ask if your free, my heart flutters against my chest
In can hear you say “I’m not, I’ll call you later?” its question, uncertainty clouding your sharp voice
I wait endlessly, like a lover patiently waiting for him to return safely from Afghanistan,
He never does, she never calls. And so the night falls.
A sharp blow against my rib cage, desperate reminder that I’ll never have it back
Hopelessness has replaced the bone marrow, in my carved bones
You carved my bones, inscribing your smile in it with the Swiss knife I believed you kept under
                                                           ­                                                                 ­your pillow, like my heart
it’s my fault, my eyes not very telescopic, wanted the golden sun, they didn’t tell me it’s a fireball
I hung expectations from the empire state, you have permanent ache in your legs,
You gave up the idea of the view, I don’t blame you
Old friend, I won’t call you 8th time, my bones have started singing in your absence
I’ll take this as my queue to escape, for I never wanted to be a verse, I wanted to be the chorus.