I try not to think of you,
for memories too close impair me.
Just a song about how you flew
or a butterfly on my knee
and the pain spurts like regret
for all I didn't do for you.
Can't forget as of yet,
a hole my conscience chewed.
Your note said I did my part
but all I see is my refusal to
be present for your bleeding heart
too busy with my can-dos.
How I wish for the melody
of your voice hounding me.
No comments:
Post a Comment