The Longest Day

I started to realize that I ask a lot of questions in my poetry, I guess mostly because to me they're a kind of ongoing dialogue with her. Except I never get answers. With "Warning Messages" and this poem here, I consciously didn't ask questions. I decided I just needed to make a statement.
This poem was written after our last encounter. It just so happened to be June 21st, the first day of summer and the longest day of the year. It sure did feel like that. Things started out pleasant enough, but after she posed the question, "What are we going to do about us?" the alcohol-fueled conversation made a wrong turn.


THE LONGEST DAY

I can’t write anymore.
It’s always how I feel.
I don’t care anymore.
It’s so insignificant.
You pat me on the head
and I finally see how it is you feel.
That raging bitterness in your eyes
leaves an emptiness.
I thought you forgave me.
I’m left broken.
I replenish my headache
trying to ignore the hollowness left
by what we’ve said.
I can be reckless with my words
but tonight I just listen.
After all you’ve been through
you deserve to be selfish.
Time didn’t stop for either of us.
Patience seems the only answer.
I’m waving the white flag
hoping for some sympathy
before you beat on me again
for all my wrong choices
and choices that weren’t mine.
I’m slipping away
from the sudden surprise.
I can’t even be a comfort to you now.
I never have to look behind me,
the angry echoes face me head on.
I bear the blame.
I reach in my pocket to count my change
hoping it’s enough to buy me
one more day.