It's always hardest, when there is no one to talk to-
When I dial your number, and it just rings and rings
Until the dreaded "voice mail" picks up.
For just an instant, when there is that brief crackle and "click"-
My hopes skyrocket that you have picked up the phone and answered, when I needed it most, the moment I am most frantic...
But when, in reality, it's just that pre-recorded message that I've heard a million times before; how I loath it
And I feel my heart sinking, like there are anchors tied all around it, dragging it into the depths of my stomach!
Where are you? Can you not feel my desperation through the infinite channels of the universe, or are they clogged and busy, too?
Don't you know that I need you, perhaps now, more than ever?
I know you're at that fancy French restaurant you're always talking about, drinking fine wine and eating escargot, possibly dancing the night away.
While I am here, all alone, eating my own heart out for supper.
All I need, all I want, is a compassionate voice on the other end of the line, talking me down off the ledge once again.
Don't you know I've had too much to drink; that I am listening to sad songs and thinking about doing it again- that awful thing which leaves me so terribly scarred when I wake from my stupor? The cuts. You know, those things you hate to see marring my arms.
But I'll have to resort to self-will and self-control, of which I have so very little...
I may or may not make it through another night of melancholy and self-loathing.
Please, for the love of God, pick up the damn phone!
*Any Poem Goes Contest Entry