I have these days of incredible strength, where I don't think about him, don't consider why I'm dreaming about him, even forget he's alive.
Then there are the other days when the memory of him is heavier than a stone. It's a big ball of lead deposited in my heart, and I can feel it dragging down in my chest.
Something like asthma.
On my deathbed I will pray
To the gods and the angels
Like a pagan to anyone
Who will take me to heaven
To a place I recall
I was there so long ago
The sky was bruised
The win was bled
And there you led me on
In your house I long to be
I dont need to say much more, do I? Do you wonder who he is? Does it matter? He's been gone so long but the damage is done. And here I sit stitching the pieces of my broken heart.
I feel a poem coming on. Maybe I'll post it. Maybe I'll just smoke some weed and go to bed.
~Anne---Tweekerz