Between the Highs

This poem is written in that space
floating away from sobriety
coming down from the high
of talking to my escape
and returning to the beast
that’s tried to drive me away.
Depression is the wedge
trying to get between me
and the only one strong enough
to push back my demons
when they outweigh
even the toughest parts of me.
This poem is written in that space
between hello and goodbye
when I’m struggling to exist
without you next to me.


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Mr. Lonely

Time is precious, and lonely knows it.
He is a greedy man, stealing moments
that should be spent filling your heart,
not your cup. He locks your mind in a
box, leaving the slideshow of memories
from a time you were not alone. He
leaves your aching heart to mend its
own, knowing your only company is
pain and the numbing substance of
your choosing.

Your Song

The problem with having the same
tastes in music, is all my music
reminds me of yours.

Your voice the drums,
a steady beat that kept me on pace.

Your smile the chorus,
the melody that got stuck in my head.

Your laugh the lyrics
that drew me in with every line.

The last chord was the look in
your eyes when you said goodbye.
The last spark, leaving the ghost
of the sound in the silence, a
slow transition into the faint
ringing being alone can cause.
The sound of your ears longing
for something to fill the quiet.