supernovice

Wake up, coughing, tired, with my face in my hands,
staring at the window as the sunlight
demands action - all the energy it takes to close these bedroom blinds.
Wrote this selfish sadness on a bathroom wall,
spent half the span of some lost culture's rise and fall,
but I'm as clueless as a drooling four year old.
Still hoping I might find the capacity
to let you know I know you're lonely.
So here's the last call for regrets,
a final slow dance through
the days that we all hold on to.
Here's the promises I've made,
tied too tight to undo -an unwrapped gift from me to you.
All the slightly insane on the 18 North Main,
reaching for a small-town downtown, night rain,
nothing I could say could be worth saying anyway today.
Like "Hey, whatever happened to what's that guys' name?",
we get a little older and it looks the same: askance.
Excuse my failing sense of humour.
Here's the promises I've made;
a razor blade and this broken piece of chain.
A history left to rust out in the rain.