Old Friend
Hello, old friend—
You hover above,
blanketing me,
weighing me down.
You bring back my cloud,
heavier now,
raining on my soul,
pooling on these concrete shoes.
You slowly stitch my eyes,
erasing beauty from sight,
darkening my world,
gently closing my door.
I thought you were tucked away,
packaged neatly in a case,
my baggage to carry—
but this baggage grows heavier
with every road.
No matter how tightly latched,
you always come back.
Always heavier,
always following.
Scars not seen,
not whispered,
cut deep.
Always following,
always growing.
I try to outrun you—
on foot,
on bike.
Yet you remain,
perfectly within reach.
My old friend,
you brought such comfort
to that cool November
when I was young.
Your blanket so 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
as I grow colder,
worse from my attempts.
And yet you remain,
my old friend,
forever loyal,
that I can’t escape.
I tuck you away again,
to carry—
heavier than before.
Until next time,
my old friend.
- william goynes