This sinking Ship

My mind is with them, my friends
And even though the distance isn’t
Great, weekends go too fast and patience
Doesn’t last long enough anymore, it’s

Sore, the subject, of me not being around
Something I’m not proud of and I don’t sleep
Soundly anymore, sometimes my boots are
Muddy like I’ve walked through a war, and

They’re only next door to one another, and
Missing them is relevant, another thing to
Add to this pent up sentiment, because while
They’re there, I’m here, spending yet another

Year watching them grow and everything for
Me is painfully slow, they’ve got petals but
I don’t even have buds, they’re all colour but
It takes me months to catch up and all I could

Want is to be there, getting high on each other’s
Presence, making memories, the best of them, in
The best times of our lives, but I’m walking tightropes
Between fine and alive and the effort that surmounts

To a walk on the wild side means days of sleep and
Wounded pride, and no surprise, because for someone
They call logical I can’t let this one go, because my dreams
And realities are having the ultimate show down and

Reality has a right hook which ends the dispute, these
Few days for them are a constant motion of new things,
New people and I hesitate to ring, and sing off praises
For the things they are achieving and its selfish, I know,

And petty, so I refuse to speak on the grounds that I
Don’t know what to say anymore, breaking plans and
Boards we walk on, and fair doesn’t factor into the equation
Only walking away-the only gift I could have ever gave them

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