To feel someone there.

I march along my knife edge

my feet are rough and tough to cut.

Its a path paved in tears

some mine, some not.

From below, the smiling void beckons.

We’ve played this charade before.

Its hands behind me braces in a prepared

open armed waiting.

I dont know if its a promise

or a threat.

I’m not happy with either.

My bag is filled with the heavy stones

some of my own design,

some given to me.

Yet i choose to hold them all the same.

Is it strength, stubbornness, or inability?

i dont have the luxury to ponder why.

I push away the hands, although i miss them

i actively yearn yet lament.

to be near them,

to feel their presence.

To feel someone there.

Its a sad fantasy i revel in,

a mental game i run in circles.

Do i choose to?

I dont know.

Does it matter either way?

I walk the path all the same.

4 Kudos

Displaying 0 of 0 comments ( View all | Add Comment )