All this pain this weekend
There is too much pain
We sit here together
Rendered powerless
Women and men alone,
Agonizing anguish
Asshole lovers gone
Hope for fulfillment gone with them
We were asshole lovers
I blamed my emasculation on her
But it is not she
Who rendered me impotent
She did not take my passion from me
I drank it away,
Spent it where it got sucked away
In spurts of nothing
That left me with nothing
I yearned to be loved
But I sabotaged her love
I strayed from my inner core
I cannot love anymore
My heart has turned to stone
Yet that is not true
I sit in the midst of other people rendered impotent in their anguish
I want to reach out and cry with them in their pain
I want to put my arm around them
Console them
Yet even the simple act of consoling a friend
With an arm on her shoulder
Has become complex for me
Tangled in a web of human touches
Twisted into knots of use and abuse
My passion lies in a love letter
Written years ago to her
Crumpled now
Discarded onto a pile of dirt
In a back alley
Beside two feet
Extending from beneath a dumpster
I need to find that letter
A crumpled piece of paper
Recovered from the back alley
Edges smoothed
Lying on the table now
Ink smudged by tears that burn my eyes
My letter haunting words
We sit around the table
Our heads in our hands
Crumpled love letters lying in front of us
Our chests heaving with repeated sobs of anguish
Amidst rivers of tears that we can’t stop in our grief
Death has brought us grief
We were asshole lovers
We are the living dead
Until we push away from the table
To find our tortuous way back
To that place
Where we can love ourselves again
…and others