It's times like this
that I miss you,
so
fucking
much.
You would've called me
(in five seconds)
and let me
scream and
cry and
rail against this whole fucking
world and about its
cruelty and bitter,
sad
unfairness.
You would've cussed them out.
And through tears
I would still laugh.
I'm so tired of the lies
and this
farce,
yet you would've told me
that I had a right to my own
secrets.
And you would be right.
But silly me for having so much empathy for people who don't even deserve to eat
the fucking dirt
on the bottom
of my shoes.
You would've driven an hour
and a half
just to take me to eat
where you would make fun of them
until I felt slightly
back in control.
You would say
they "got you FUCKED UP"
And I just
wish that I could still hear you say
those words.
Because I could pretend
even for a little bit
that this didn't
feel like a
slap in the face.
But for all the good you did,
you did twice as bad.
So I won't call you.
I say these words
to the black void
of desolation.
