a phone rings to my displeasure
- another time spent
in your voice
in your precious respect:
the one demanded
for which i was reprimanded
and ****** for returning empty handed;

and i ignore your call
long enough for it to get lost again
but your name
lingers inside my brain
the image of your name
the only markings behind my closed eyes-
i dont want to see it
i dont want your name to be it
i dont want to read it
i dont want to open your voice message
i dont want to believe it
i dont want to think it
i dont want to dream it
i dont want to watch your name flash by
i dont ever want my path to cross between it;
fifty five years of seeing your name cross out mine
is enough for me to finally delete it.

-a father's hand reaching out,
means nothing once its reaching
has been to pull and tear, and rip apart;
the pain is the only lasting feeling.