There’s a cure.
There’s a missing thing.
A link that doesn’t clink.
Doesn’t connect a body part that was left dissected like a totem pole who’s head didn’t get elected.
Not standing tall at all.
Sworn oath’s all over the floor torn and scorned.
Burning confetti into shadow hearts along the walls.
The beat through my veins as duty calls and I stand with no sleep, no energy and I stand small for another stupid war.
Another freement of a disagreement.
Another debate we both hate.
Another screaming battle where we just stagnate.
I don’t even fear it anymore.
I feel it’s too late.
There’s a cap in the bottle. The sauce doesn’t milk it just congeals or hissed and there’s no love lost.
All the heals from long lost gazing out of windows together games to bedroom antics and lost time frames.
The past code is unlocked and somewhere between then and now the show stopped.
Heartbeats all stopped and unopened, untamed and misled and half broken memories under a bridge the ship swam and we’ve all sunken.
F*ck it, I may as well be an uncle token. Crack open a bottle the old demons awoken.
Persuade yourself to a genius future.
Each week’s the same a repeat trepidation to a fiery creature.
Week by week, worse by worse, I watch the clock ticking and wonder which will come first?
Leaving and losing or a big black hearse?
I wonder benignly as somewhere inside me I try to believe we can still reach the sky see.
Yet with every discussion the pain comes on rushing and you’re right there beside me and you keep on pushing.
I’m everything I wanted and a hundred times more.
If there’s something you don’t like – there’s always a cure.
© G.P Williamson 2018