waiting

Head against the wall

wishing for some tea or a cigarette

trying to think of anything but you,

miles away, talking cheerfully with friends

as i wander through this solemn place

uncomfortable and unable to speak any word but your name.

I run my fingers through my tangled hair, over my pale face

and I’m certain of only one thing now;

that loving a person is a lot like

hanging yourself.

But just before you jump

you look down at the ground,

back at the door.

You wait to see if someone

will come and rescue you.

But he doesn’t come.

No one comes.

He is settled beneath his sheets

probably dreaming

of a girl with softer skin and greener eyes,

a calmer voice.

But for what its worth,

all I really wanted

was for you to wrap your arms around me

and kiss me on the neck,

offer to make me an egg, some toast,

and maybe some tea.

That would be nice.