My Old Friend
Hello, old friend—
You hover above,
blanketing me,
weighing me down.
You bring back my cloud,
always heavier than before,
raining on my soul,
pooling on my concrete shoes.
You slowly sew my eyes,
erasing beauty from my sight,
darkening my world,
slowly closing my door.
You were tucked away,
packaged neatly in a case,
my baggage to carry—
baggage that grows heavier with every road.
No matter how tightly closed,
the baggage reopens.
Always heavier,
always following.
Scars not seen,
not whispered,
that cut deeper.
Always following,
always growing.
I try to outrun you—
on foot,
on bike.
Yet you remain near,
always within reach.
My old friend,
you brought such comfort when I was young,
that cold November of ’79.
Your blanket was warm,
that same old blanket—
grown heavier with age,
dirtier,
colder,
worn.
You won’t leave me,
always returning,
always following,
always heavier.
I try to drown you in drink,
yet you remain sober,
yet I grow colder,
worse in my attempts.
And yet you remain,
my old friend,
forever loyal,
that I can’t escape.
I tuck you away
to carry,
heavier again.
Until next time,
my old friend.
- by william goynes