Sometimes you have to write the words.

Staring at your folly in print

may make it disappear.

Exposing your errant thoughts

to the light of day

casts a new reality.

Take new notice

of the ground beneath your feet.

 

Sometimes I write the words

Because I have no choice

When thoughts of you linger

all day

and all evening

and yesterday too.

What is this?

How can it possibly be this way?

 

Your care for me has vanished

along with you.

I struggle to accept this in vain.

Who are you

to invade my mind

all my waking hours?

What power do you possess

that I succumb to my lunatic thoughts?

 

I gave so much of myself

because that’s what I needed to do.

You were ever accepting

and my fears abated.

And I believed

you would keep the fragments safe,

not throw them to the wind

like yesterday’s ashes.

 

And now

my broken record of pain and tears

continues.

No end in sight

I am so lost.

Part of me is gone forever.

One loss too many,

the final blow.

The ironic and dreadful thought

that I may have caused this

with enthusiasm mistaken for demands

and confusion prompting angry words.

Is it too late to recapture

the give and take of a sincere friend?

To support and be uplifted

by someone who truly cares?