Broken Record of Hypocrisy

I’ve been thinking about you lately. Constantly actually. Not because I want to though. More like I’m going through an involuntary mental spring-cleaning. There’s no rest for my melancholy mind Searching swiftly Madly Meticulously Through the backboards of my incompetent memory. I’ve sorted every piece of broken hope we had together Polished every trophy of self worth we had acquired together. I’ve opened up boxes in the cobwebbed corners of my skull Dusted off old stories, faces, Summers together locked away in ratty suitcases. And I’ve rummaged through old broken records of your voice. They’ve been playing on the turntable of my subconscious. I’ve come to accept them playing, screaming over my own thoughts. It’s your faded voice I hear when I’m down When I’m weak When I’m tired of waking to the same old ceiling we decorated with plastic stars. I hear it when I’m wishing for something better than the drowned out dreams we’ve grown out of. The melodic memories I find now searching through my past. The sing-song hauntings of your voice tell me everyday the words you used to whisper Whisper when no one could hear. Old school yard secrets Old wishes we made on stars How happy we should be. How pretty you thought I was. How much better you knew you were How you used to tell me that I “Can’t keep running away from things when they don’t go my way.” Wait, what was that last one? What was that last whisper I heard in the breeze As it flows careless through the trees We used to dream in? What was that last murmer I hear In the creek of the boards As I cross the cool floor To shut out the moon coming through the window you used to hang from? What did that wave tell me when it crashed against the shore? The squeaking of that old oak door, The scrape of my heels against the summer pavement? It was you. Your voice playing back to me. Telling me not to run from my past, Not to find the easy way out, Not to fly away when things get tough, Because I can’t run from everything. But now that I’ve found that one last memory I’ve searched for, And I can box up the record, Turn off the light, And nail up that tiny door in the back of my mind Where I hide my past, It leaves me thinking. Where are you now? Because I stayed. I stayed when things got tough because you told me to be strong. And I sacrificed my pride more than a few times To patch up what went wrong. And I sat and soaked up the painful words As the pain of this house screamed on. But where are you? You’re Gone. You were waiting to run all along. I’ve stayed in this room. Seen death come and spring bloom Cried tears of pain and trudged along. But as for you, Now you’re nothing but a broken record of hypocrisy. Run on.Of all people to leave this house, leave me to clean up the anger and the death, leave me to cry while I tried to pull things together at the seams, it hurts the most that it was you. Because of all people, I looked up to you most. Those cheap plastic stars on the ceiling never were as bright as you. Written April 2nd, 2002 © on Apr 02 2002 09:06 AM PST   18 • 0 • 10