It is winter of '99
the turning of a century.
The cold was infecting my concaving chest,
adding to the grieving.
There was a nagging need to go back
bitterly dragging my heels enough to
stop the feverish spinning on's of time.
'See it's fun man'
we all cheer
as we lift our glasses to the ceiling
and laugh through
over lungs shuddering for air.
Because what are you supposed to say
when the truth would be breaking down
the walls we put up against
the tides of unbearable hurt.
Nothing is alright.
We're not smoking just for fun.
We are putting all our unscreamed screamed
into the booze and alcohol.
Hell -
these screams should be screamed
with raw beating throats
burst ear drums
and turn faces blue
with the anguished screaming, screaming, screaming.
It is winter of '99
the year she left us.
I have never felt more alone,
pretending there is no memory
of her great big heart
and enormous laugh that filled every room
that was blessed with it.
Everyone is pretending
masking
alone.
Why can't we do all this unwelcome
remembering together?
Why does losing one person
make you lose all the rest
including yourself?
I want to die just because
she did.
But instead of letting the words
and tears tumble out onto each other
we sit here sipping our beers and taking another hit
cast shadows on the eating away inside us.
she valued the pills and razors most
and I hate myself for it
make believe she didn't kill us
too when she took herself
play dress up in happiness.
All I really know is that
it's winter of '99
this is the coldest I'll ever feel
all the turning is making me dizzy
and god i miss her.