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.