For Caitlin: may he be but a bitter line in a memoir otherwise filled with love and beauty
I thought that someday I'd be strong,
I thought that I'd be fine,
but someday can't come soon enough
when all you have is time.
It's funny, though you've won the battle,
I will win the war;
for though you were my everything,
another will be more.
You're something less than human
yet, you think you're far above.
You, my friend, are lonely:
incapable of love.
Of myself I make a fool;
lose composure, lose my pride,
but you have lost much more than that
you're empty deep inside.
So next time cavalries should meet
I will not surrender or retreat.
I will look you in the eyes
and sweetly will I say,
"I wish you all which you deserve
and have a pleasant day."
For you'll deserve whatever comes,
whatever your life brings:
You will get your fire
and I will get my wings.
And maybe I'm still hurting;
still fragile and afraid,
but none of that can be as bad
as the bed, yourself, you've made.
Showing posts with label Moving on. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moving on. Show all posts
Sunday, April 18, 2010
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