Gone

So the pain is increasingly relevant
Where it is long typically prevalent,
And the numb creeping up my left
Draws the wind quickly from my chest.

No money to be made, none to spend,
Don’t listen to a troubled woman’s wisdom.
She knows forever knot what ‘she do’,
Just when you think you rooted, she move.

Always watching, hoping, preying,
Praying for someone in the making
Who shows up right on time as usual,
When the high up moon sings blues’n full.

Won’t someone come check on me?
Won’t someone look in to see?
Always careful what she wish for,
She careful not to wish anything more.

Waiting is torture.

Thankful for everyone who continues to check on me.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s