Concealed in deceptively lively flesh,
my hollow, throbbing tin can chest,
contains no fruit nor leaves nor life,
like a withered and weathered surly old wife.
Just playing the same old sad lover’s tune,
with no hope of closure anytime soon.
The same old melody alone in my breast.
And the scars from my heart-loss worn like a crest.
With no letter nor phone call nor word from you,
just an overplayed memory of your voice rings true.
And no touch and no movement from your side at all,
So I quietly cower lonely and small, wishing for you,
yes wishing you’d call.
My lifeblood dried up in my thirsty dry veins,
all run aground from chasing your name.
Chasing all the parts and pieces of you,
and the things that you love and the things that you do.
And like a petulant child on the sidelines I stand,
while others live life, unbroken, undamned.
But I just remain burning and breaking,
as my limbs grow weak and my soul keeps on shaking.
Not a word. Not a gesture or a smile comes my way,
though I cry through the night, and wait through each day,
No you’re gone and forever and nevermore shall be.
My dear, nevermore shall you rescue me.
Though it was you, who once set me free.
Yet I foolishly wait on this lost cause this mess,
though I’m left without answers, I’m forced to guess.
I constantly wait for you to return,
to rescue my heart, to stop the slow burn,
Of knowing that you will never come home,
that you are gone. and I am alone.