I’m sad, walking to work on a beautiful day. Lost, walking through isle 13 of the grocery store. Anxious, writing ‘I miss you, I love you’ over and over again, and never pressing send. Writing it on paper, long hand. Another letter that will never make it to the mailbox, or into your hands.
I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy
because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless
and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.Robin Williams
I’ve packed my bags again, all ready to leave.
The bags of memory I carry with me
They’re too heavy but I know my shaking arms can hold the weight
pulling on my shoulders that were made too small to carry
all the things I have to drag around with me and my little
cowards heart, that yearns for love and fears anything
that breathes and can’t be predicted or forgotten.
Like a beaten dog, I scuttle through neighbourhoods
looking back over my shoulder, worried about who might be following me.
Breathing too hard on a quiet fall day, heart racing after ghosts
that no one hears but my unsure ears; who whisper to my heart
Run, they whisper. Run from home again.
But my legs are tired and my last plan of escape is crumbling around me
torn down by all that once was home, was love, was safe, was blood.
As the leaves turn red, orange and shades of yellow, the sunsets burn
like fire with smoke drifting from the trees
there’s no more roads to leave this town, there’s no tomorrow, no better days.