smoke.

i wish i had something to smoke.
something to take this feeling away.
shaking, crying. my skin is peeling off.

purpose.
what, exactly, is one’s purpose?
no. no. you haven’t fulfilled anything yet.
you haven’t taught him how to
ride a bike or shoot small animals.
you haven’t seen the smile behind
the first picture to make it to
the fridge door, stuck with a giant magnet.
you haven’t held him through
bullies at school or heartbreak.
you haven’t given him the thousands
and thousands of things that
he needs to survive.
purpose?
how can you even
begin to think you
know what it might be?

so, what is life’s purpose,
if it only ends in pain?
to make the moments inbetween
the heartache worth it.
to let each kiss linger,
each memory, captured in color
on the canvas inside your heart.
to see the love in the eyes
of everyone around you
(your son when he looks at you
for a smile of assurance
after he’s done something
he was unsure of.
me, at any given moment
of any given day).

i can’t make the pain go away.
but i can tell you it’s okay to feel it.
you wont let me hold you
through the madness
but i can be there just in case.
i can’t feel everything you feel
but i can sit down here
crying and hurting all over
with the knowledge that
nothing i ever say can
possibly mean anything
to your aching heart.

i can’t get him back for you.
oh, lady, how i wish i could.
i can’t get him back for you
but i can try every damn day
to do everything i can to
keep him alive in you
and in your son.

my hands are so worthless
when you wont let me touch you.

i wish i had something to smoke.