Bridges are bustling outside,
In here there is nothing alive,
It’s looking dark.
The sky is reflecting its gray onto the river,
I’m contemplating death before elder,
As I lie here letting the pills tend to my liver.
Maybe it’s not here,
But how I ended up at this place,
It must be how her wrinkles are filled with sorrow and disgrace.
Neither is it there,
But upon my arrival,
That when I return I panic as if I’m breathing in thin air.
It’s seeing her shrinking body and fading hair,
Her shoulder fits too small in my hand,
And she doesn’t seem to care.
I’m not sure if it’s him,
Or because he’s the reminder,
Our past blends with the present and is perpetually grim.
It may be the flatness of her eyes—as if she saw that heaven was dim.
I think it’s the boy,
How he fails to know,
What we need is to leave but have nowhere to go.
I feel it’s the being trapped,
It’s being without the means,
But having all of your plans mapped.
It’s because I’m cursed with being cornered,
My thoughts seem free,
But they’re really smothered and bordered.
Maybe it’s when she claims her sky is gray,
That I’m her only sunshine,
And I keep her sadness at bay.
When really she’s the stone when I feel my sanity decay.
But now I’ve come to a conclusion—it’s when leaving is possible but the difficulty provides disillusion.
It’s all the pretending
That has my wellness pending
And I can’t see it ending.
Now it’s a plea that I’m sending
Because there is no hand lending
And to my heart no one is tending.
I see my back is always bending
So into the darkness I’ll be descending.