The Giver and Her Lover

She’s the eternal giver,
But what can I give her
Apart from my torn apart heart?
I continue my blindedness – my not seeing,
And allow the intrusive thoughts
To rule me while I try
To sift through truths and the lie
That says that all I love
Will fall apart
And all that I live for
Will leave me as my father did
When his young heart stopped.

My heart continued to beat, however,
And be beaten year after year
As it suffered tear after tear
Till it became the mess it is now
With all its stitches and scabs.

How could I ever be the giver
And not only give her an equal,
But be her equal
When all I have
Is this beaten, beating heart?

Morning Routine

Take my breath
With your hand around my neck,
And cold fingers running down my spine.

I live and die
At your command,
At your hand.

Every morning I try
To walk away
But you always chase

Me endlessly, relentlessly
Till I can’t see
The light ahead of me.

Hangover Cure

What a hangover it was.
The endless sick feeling –
And tears when I could find no relief.
It’s no surprise that it ended this way,
After getting drunk on the daily –
Caught in an ever present pink haze
And dancing in the purple rain.
The worst part was the cure
As they were some tough pills to swallow.
But I got them down
And got up.