Another
Another,
another eighth of August
Another year,
another heartbreak
This heinous
date, this date of dread
The day I
wish had never come.
They say you’re
still here, your spirit in me
They say you’d
be proud, if you were here, if you could see.
But the ‘if’
is the but, the if means you’re not
If means you
can’t be, don’t smile, won’t see.
If doesn’t tell
me you love me and what I’ve done
It doesn’t hold
my hand when I’m scared
Stroke my hair,
call my phone.
If isn’t the
sound of your laugh
Or the scent
of Channel
If is no
comfort, no relief, not today.
Because if
you were here, were near, weren’t gone
This day
would pass by, just…..
Another Eighth of August.
