The anger-ripened bloodshot in your eyes last night in a dream,
more than a dream — a vision so real I could almost touch you.
I think I tried to.
Your trophy of tears
Your carriage with no wheels
The broken mirror with the pencil frame
The broken windows that got carboarded up
The unshaved cheeks
The forced smiles and awkward laughs
I’m happy I haven’t forgotten your face, I hope I never will.
You’ve been gone for years now,
but your still there in the back of my mind,
Angry at me for being angry at you.
We yelled and screamed the greatest insults,
That’s what I learned from you first,
It’s the hardest thing to shake.
Years later, I still don’t know enough about finishing things,
I believe moving on is just a temporal dulling.
I try finding new ways to be happy with myself — It’s a real fight sometimes.
I think I might be broken too,
but I don’t blame you (often) anymore.
I wish I could have held you once more,
but a dream will have to do.
