Chronic

Unmanaged sadness, wearing a mask of unfelt smiles and laughter

Living with abandon as a chronic stranger to his own self

“Who am I?” unasked upon those too-proud lips

Exhausted from a stealthy, auto-pilot ego and the damaged relationships in his wake

Breaker of a million promises to us and to them and to who knows who else

Stealer and murderer of lyrics, of sentiment, of children’s and women’s hearts

Misappropriator of my very convictions to himself

Not my best friend despite his feigned, expressed desire

Sans a goodbye, claiming he’d leave his options open

Walked out on me lo’, that hard August day

And it’s October

And I’m okay