The Calm BeforeMature

The last day of poetry month! So far I have completed 21 poems... this will be 22. I did not publish one (too dark... and after reading this one you'll wonder just what that even means), and won't count it. I hope to write one more tonight; think of this one and that as companions.

The Calm Before

I got a call last night

an old friend of sorts

"You're looking poorly

really going to hell

aren't you...

put on a few pounds

and man your hair...

And all this

'feeling the pain of others'

shit...

Always a leech,

aren't you?

Taking their suffering

as your own...

Is that your excuse

for looking like Dorian's portrait?

Why look for someone else'

problems?

You sure have made a mess of

everything you touch...

Still chasing that same tired dream

you've had for forty years...

Let it go,

it isn't going to happen.

What's that?

You're starting to slip again?

Slip?

You can't slip...

you've aready

fallen

down.

There was a time

you showed some

small amount of

promise...

but man

that was what?

Thirty-five years ago?

You've become your job.

You've become your father.

You've become

everything you said you wouldn't

become.

I can't say I'm surprised...

You talked a good game,

but I never saw a spark...

well maybe a flicker

but that burned out long ago.

You know I only say this

because I think

there still might be a chance for you yet

to salvage something...

some dignity...

But I have to say

every time I check in

that chance looks slimmer...

I wonder how many more calls

before I won't see it at all...

You know, it's like Jack said

"A real friend stabs you

in the front"...

You think I like saying this?

You think I like

finding you like this?

You think

I don't wish

just once

I'd see

who I used

to know?"

The End

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