Tag: sad

Living legacy of a dead dad

A loveless life, and misery.
Did you expect that
To be your legacy?

I thought I had one happy memory
Of you and me:

I was walking on your feet
As you held my hands in yours,
Although now I am not sure
If it’s true

Because the main way I remember you
Is pale and blue in a wooden box –
Dead, in our living room.

I did not get the chance to know you, in a non-dead state.
I did not get the chance to really know you,
And all your uncaring ways.
I did not get the chance to see for myself,
What a disastrous disappointment you would be, dad,
As a father, as a man, as a husband –
You were everything I never want to be.

So, thank you, dad,
For leaving me.
Thank you, dad,
For your legacy.
Thank you, dad,
For loving me in your way…
Hey,
You know what that looked like?

You would come home from work, and breeze past me,
When I was so happy to see you,
As you never even said goodbye in the morning, no,
You did not want me
Or my affection, my love –
So unfamiliar to a soul that had given up,
No, you only gave your attention
To your newspaper and your regrets –

You know what?

You made no difference, alive or dead.

I don’t even think

About the life we could have had.

My lovely paradox

The sun shines through my windows,
But the night lives on in my mind.
Thoughts of a melancholic moon, you,
Imaginary jealousy, a wish
To just leave things be.
Oh, it’s simultaneously light and dark,
Life and death,
But either way,
Nothing
In the end.

Poem: silent love

Melancholy and fireworks
Shoot into the sky
Heralds of a new age
That’s neverchanging and relentless
In misery, a lack of company
Present in the dark night sky
In my mind, and in my mind’s eye
I see the end of it all
Misplaced among the vines
Thorns and gravestones
Can you see the God
In the middle of the path
Butchered and broken
It is love, so misshapen
That it becomes as silence,
Destroyed when spoken aloud
As the raindrops drop on my face
A mix of tears, confirmations
The body and blood, proof
That we have killed him
All comes crashing down
Deep into the ground
Where I lie,
And lay myself down
And I won’t make a sound

Dark Matter in an Empty Space

I feel the empty space next to me. Where there should be another heart, beating, another body, breathing, there is just me. A pillow in the middle, instead of choosing sides. There is only my smell on the blankets, on my sheets.

I am covered by my own space.

I want to turn around in the middle of the night, and find you there… my finger tips slowly discovering your arm, the dip in your waist, your soft breast, as if it’s exploring you for the first time. I want to come to rest, turning onto my side, and bury my nose in your soft hair. I can barely breathe, but I welcome the suffocation. To know that there is someone by my side… it’s enough.

My heart is essentially clenched, threatening to burst as it tries to hang onto its love. I tell myself: “don’t waste it. You have only so much love to give, spare some for yourself.” But, my god, it’s addicting. To find a new fixation, to chase that sensation – the excitement.

How much it then hurts, when I lay here and I lie to myself, late at night. I shut my eyes tightly and tell myself that this is the way, and things will go the way they go. But at the end of the day, I still lay here on my own. 

Every Time

I die on the inside every time I decide to leave someone behind.
Or when I lay to rest the plans we never had,
Or the memories we never made
In a future that we will never see
Together.

Together was all we had,
And I find myself here at the end
Of it all, struggling to stand tall
And raise my head high.
Because every goodbye kills me,
And I die every day, afraid
Of the next one to go away.

I’m so fine with it, sometimes,
Somehow, but then there are times
When I’m drowning in the deep depths
Of despair, where the air
Escapes my lungs
And leaves me behind.

Painful Peace

I wonder if you’ll listen
When I rip out my hair.
Or if I jump off a chair
In a peculiar fit of despair –
Or a fit of frustration
(A most horrible sensation),
That would normally be repressed,
And left unsaid in the depths
Of the River Lethe,
Where no one could see me
Drowning in the misery.

Should I then keep it a mystery?
Or should I break our reality
Into pieces, so that we’ll find ourselves
In the painful peace of the present.
But, oh, it’s been my role for an eternity:
The “keeper of peace” –
Why should it be me?
Why should I not feel angry?
Should I not learn from my history?
Even if I can’t see what is ahead of me?

I never asked for my past.
But if I do not learn from my history,
This life will be the death of me.

Orion Still Calls Me

It’s been years since I last saw the sea.
I can still hear the waves,
And feel the wind on my skin.
Oh, it’s a sin, a wrong,
But the waters still call my name.
I still listen and look to the stars,
As if seeing that constellation
Will be any consolation
For the absence of my home.