Depressed, Drunk, Waiting #9

8:00 PM
I'm waiting
for the phone to ring
for the doorbell to chime
I want to be held
stroked, told everything is alright
I want to be kissed
He does not know this
or does he
Who is he?

Tonight has been the grand illusion
Music, thoughts, ruminations of
drunken skin fallen from a wine glass
and my dog sits patiently at my feet
wondering who I am

Sitting, my feet planted
too firm
I am hoarding my thoughts
like I do shoes

You're late
I'm drunk
I'm almost out of cigarettes
but I have plenty of water

Has he read my diary?
Why is he late?
Is he lost?
like I am lost
in feelings
emotions
thought.

He has a child's voice
but I like the innocence
I can pretend that it is mine.

He is late
I pour myself another drink to pacify

My eyes are burning
I have cried today
hopeless
romantic
lost
but wanting to be found

Shimmering in the sand
pick me up
dust me off
take me home

If you take much longer
I will be forced to calm myself
with another drink

I want to run
hold hands
be young

I want
Always

but never more then right now.