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.