A moment ago I was in a rage
A quiet rage…the kind when you’re alone.
When you don’t have the will to fight
The real enemy – which, of course, is YOU
With screams and self-inflicted hair pulling,
With knocking the shit –off- your- shelf- type RAGE -
Though you can taste the relief it would bring.
Instead you sit still with arms on chair arms
Rocking slightly in an old brown wooden rocker
Listening to your own shallow breathing.
Hand wrapped around your white coffee-stained mug
The one with the deep crack in the inside
Like the crack that is tearing through your mind.
Hoping that the comforting warmth will move
From inside of the mug to the outside,
Moving through your hand and up to your head
Through all the chilly parts of your fool heart.
The call comes and I am less foolish now
Maybe more so but I feel some relief.
Thankful for throwing crumbs of attention
Originated from your sense of guilt.
But I don’t care about that – not at all!
Give me all of your stupid excuses.
Stood me up and now want to lick my wound.
And you were the one who suggested tea.
A good close friend I should and would forgive
But that term – FRIEND- hangs too loosely on you.
You live to be admired. Not from me!
You will never notice a bruise on me.
Now you will come whether I want it or not
To show that you’re not so lousy after all.
Just to drop off a small something for me
That you had bought before you stood me up.
Shall I look at it as a gift of guilt?
But I’m alone these days even in a crowd.
So when you come, my joy will forgive you.
Knowing that someone has thought about me.
As it will also restore myself back
To me…if only for a brief moment.