Worried
sick
sick
sick
Heaving between anger and
anxiety.
You’re probably sleeping soundly
somewhere,
sleeping it off
somewhere,
sleeping with
him.
I know you’re in that fog right now
and I’m no beacon of light,
more like a blip on the radar
nagging about the rocks
of reality.
And you,
you just want to drift
right off the edge
right into obscurity,
bashing all that nothingness.
Maybe you think he’s keeping you afloat,
I wouldn’t know,
I don’t even know what your boat looks like
anymore.
But I’m tired of swimming after you,
after your attention.
I’m going back to shore
and having a cup of realitea.
When you find your way back home,
I’ll be waiting,
but I have to stop watching
those shores
for your return.
I have to tell myself
that you’ll know
where to find me.
But don’t expect to see me waving
because this is the last message I’m sending.
Lost at Sea
