Plagued by a Promise

I remember the racket.

That noisy daemon behind the smile.

How could I forget?

Some say I fell in love

with you that day

and maybe they’re right.

Love as a brother,

the first truthsayer in my life.

My friend.

What resonates strongest, and

most often are those quiet

sober moments that weren’t

laugher and gaiety,

but factual and less than tactful.

The words, though, still stick.

“My dear, you’ll die.

Will you die on your terms

or conditions of someone else?”

The answer was then, on my terms.

The answer today remains the same.

I’d be lying to say there aren’t still  days

when I sit down to text you

about some stupidity

or a problem that only your

unedited POV can illuminate.

I get halfway through,

before I remember

that it’s useless,  that

it’s a message that you’ll never get.

I hate that, but I promised,

you motherfucker.

So you win again.



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