Get a grip. It’s all gone now, straight down the drain.
All those weeks, months, years, erased. Replaced with pain.
Like a Christmas tree, cut, decorated and then just disposed.
Illusions, realities, try not to think about it. Just move on.
But wait, maybe there is hope, as the believers say.
No, that tree is dead and won’t grow again. All hope is gone.
Darkness, absence of light, makes it hard to pitch a new tent.
Makes me feel incompetent, why is it so cold tonight?
Memories illuminate but a flashlight would be better,
Or even some matches to start a fire. I’m unprepared.
The dark forest conceals her secrets. I am revealed.
Anxious, waiting for a new dream to paint a new sky,
Crawling like a lost soul who has gone off the path.
Too tired to sleep, too hungry to eat. Living on fear.
Get a grip. Breath in the air and release the despair.
Wait for the sun, she will come. She will be there.