They said I was to be found drinking my own insecurities,
drunkard amongst men,
tripping tongue over formalities,
with a baritone greeting and a cup clutched in my talons
I sip and slurp and chug and swallow
the day I was told I was loved
like a child favorite television show,
but even they get tired of the reruns
and I’m constantly found slipping on whether
you meant to stay forever
but lost your way coming back home,
or maybe it was
the goodbye you left me with
that shocked the country into a plummeting recession.
I constantly found you pointing a finger in my direction
for I was the cause of your distress
your lack of trust
I was the handcuffs on a man with no arms
because there were always three fingers pointing back at you.
I took the lead out of the bullet and spent it
scribbling of the way your eyes looked in the moonlight
on bits of paper that I put into bottles
and sling into the ocean.
I doubt anyone will find them,
as the ocean engulfs them, and the depths seem to
sink deeper
as if the remorse plagued on those inscriptions
are the reason for a dwindling ocean life.