We've all sweat through
everything we own
and the grief blends into
late summer humidity
like a poison miasma descending
on us with cutting talons
sharpened by the wonderful
memories of our better times.
And behold this new hole
inside of me that somehow
adds weight to my burden.
I cannot fill it with oceans
of shed tears or cover it
with misplaced stoicism
because when the room is dark
and the people on whom
I should lean have left to
tend their own bleeding wounds
I stare into the distance
and boil regrets to chew on
in bitter silence for the
things I didn't do or say
and the meal isn't filling
and the liquid is unpleasant
and **** this stupid pain
and the tears always waiting
to break and *******
for leaving and **** me
for all my miserable
failures and these stupid
******* dreams unfulfilled
and my dumb ******* human
need to feel and to heal.
And forget all I've just said
because you were good
and wise and whole against
a once blue sky
and I don't know what
I'm meant to say
I wanted to say something
profound and beautiful
and blisteringly true
reaching toward meaningful
with fingers stretched out
almost able to touch
but all I've got is:
I love you and I'm going
to miss you so much.