Will you wish you had listened to me?
When I'm gone?
Will you rack your brain
To recall those words
I tried to whisper to you
In the middle of the night
Or on the phone
You know I must have said something -
I said something, right?
You know that I said -
What did I say?
You remember I said it -
What was it?
Will you cry and beg the looming black of the night
For one more chance-
One last listen?
Will you promise the Nothingness that
This time you will do better?
This time you will hear me?
Will you regret the days
That we went without speaking?
When I'm gone?
What about those
Horrible things you said to me?
About the way I look
The way I speak
The way you mocked the things that scare me?
Because I am afraid of bumps in the night
But you bring the night into day
And sometimes I regret waking up
And I try to tell you -
But you don't hear me
You never hear me
You tell me you don't want to
Because you don't understand
And you never will
When I am gone will you float in our last embrace?
Will you remember the secrets I told you?
The ones you spread around
And plastered on front pages of newspapers
And handed out to everyone who could read?
Will you think of that broken trust
And how you said it was my fault?
But your gloved hands
They gave me the hammer
That shattered it to pieces -
You framed me -
My fingerprints left behind by
Unprotected, ill-trusting hands
The only thing left
At the scene of the crime
Will you wish that we had laughed more?
When I'm gone?
Will punchlines of jokes
Call to you from beyond
And draw you from dreams
And haunt you long into the night?
Like cold ghosts on creaking floorboards
Will sleep elude you then?
Will you hear me then?
When I'm gone will you remember my cry?
The way it sounded when I wailed for hours
And clung to you as I howled at the moon?
Broken hearts beat loud -
And sometimes they never really heal
Will you hear the phantoms of stifled sobs you slept through?
When I'm gone?
Will you picture me
In my bed alone
One hand to my head
The other resting in between chest and stomach?
You didn't want to hear me
So I made sure you wouldn't
You closed the doors
And turned your music louder
And banished me away
You told me to cheer up
And you told me I lied
And you told me I was wrong
But it was behind those same closed doors
That you came to lose your chances
Of one more laugh
One more secret
One final, pleading ask
Your one last chance
Ends up locked behind them
So I ask you to think -
What will you wish
When I am gone?
YOU ARE READING
Yellow Paint : A Collection of Midnight Thoughts
PoetryAn ever-growing manifesto of the musings that keep me up at night Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought making his insides bright would make him happy. Writing is my yellow paint.
