April 15th

I thought of you,
on tax day.

With your money and time all spent
and your soul cashed out
long before Uncle Sam came
to stake claim.

I wondered if you felt it,
the despair.

Of another birthday pass
another year of staring alone
out dirty windows too clouded
to recognize the future you forced out.

Did the loneliness seep in,
past your scarred skin?

Finally reaching your bones

that only rattle your frame

enough to keep up the shaking

so that your heart is never completely still.

 

Leaving you unable

to hear those whispered words,

“you were loved.”

 

 

That return you refused to accept.