Ramblin'

I pace around the room
wondering what I've forgot
something, I'm sure is hiding from me.
Something is not coming home.

Packing seems to take ages
when it doesn't all fit in the bag.
And when it does, you're relieved
but you've just missed your flight.

It's only seven hundred miles
and then it's a forty minute drive
it'll take all day to return to the way
it was before you've left.

Hours pass much faster
when you hold on to them tightly.
It's when you have no more patience
that the clock hand finally moves.

A swollen ankle reminds me
to plan each step more often,
but the voice screaming inside me
insists me to move along.

What does it take to recover
from a month of forced regret?
A day or two meandering
in the shadows of your spine.

Lurking through the covers
I admit, this is my home.
It's not where most time is spent
but it is where I get my mail.

How do you make a decision,
for the first time in your life?
When you're old will you remember,
how long it took me to ask?

It will be sunny on the day I die,
of this I can almost be certain.
There will be blood on fists against the wood
and then there will be quiet.