Hurt Like Hell

Hurt Like Hell

I loved the way you signed your name

With a keyboard at the end.

The end.

Where we put down our pens.

Two lunchtime freaks

You passed me music sheets

I passed you poetry

We passed the year

In the mutual appreciation society.

I won't be coming back next year

Between tears you said everything would

Be alright.

I wouldn't be writing poems about

People in the middle of the night

About to kill themselves.

I said you were going to be a great musician

And I'd proudly claim I knew you when

Keep in touch

Lost touch

Last touch

Eighteen years old

Such a bold year

To be alive.

My soul broke

The day I heard,

And my pen ran dry

As my tears ran steady.

Now here I sit

At thirty-four

Your picture on my desk

Your words in my mind

You're still as young

As I remember.

My pen is full my muse,

Speak to me.

~Darkling Plain, Apr. 11, 2008