The Voices Of My Past Friends

I can hear the voices of my past friends, they whisper me to sleep

as in the white heat of anger I weep and I weep,

they tell me to forget, but I could never forget

this room lay empty now, filled only with regret.

I can see my friends outside the window

they don’t look at me, they cannot see,

the person they created when they

turned away and forgot about me.

I sit in a cold, cold room alone with nothing

I know this depression booklet won’t save,

those condescending, patronizing sentences

will follow me to my grave.

I can hear the voices of my friends, they whisper me to sleep

as in the white heat of anger

I weep

and I weep.

This poem is from the collection ‘Broken Doll’ - bit.ly/brokendollmt

#anger #relationships #friendships #emotions #dark #poem