Still Friends

You said that we would still be friends

and that nothing was really over

but you spoke in a blank room of empty air

and those eyes

those eyes never felt your words

and I’m burning cold 

burning like bare hands scraping ice to grasp a frozen door handle

you told me not to struggle

that help was on the way

and to save myself from drowning would be faithless

but left me to float

with no direction 

without solid ground in sight

hope was the unkindest crumb you threw me

So I will go and buy a ticket 

to anywhere

rather than search for a mirage

Placing no reliance on

unheard prayers to a tin god

who leaves you with a hollowed heart

and promises like chalk drawings on a sidewalk

running in the rain

like I am now

with your stolen dice in my pocket

the fix is in

but I’m no longer gambling

on the game of “still friends”.




About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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3 Responses to Still Friends

  1. ‘and promises like chalk drawings on a sidewalk…’ Profoundly written! ❤

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