Empty now,
The carpet filled with
The remnants of your loneliness —

For two and a half years,
In and out of rehab, and back to this
Five hundred sixty eight square feet

You’d finally a job
After eighteen months of nothingness,
Recently giving notice

And now, off to try your luck in
Another state

And what have I done?
I’ve paid for things
This apartment, power, phone,
Medicine, a doctor, a counselor,
Food, gas

Until such time as
You were able to pay for
Everything but the apartment
The medicine, and the counselor

I walked with you,
Talked with you,
Invited you over

But what is a father
But the repository of a daughter’s dreams
And the storehouse of a son’s resentment?
With you —
Stuck between the two

Empty now,
The air heavy with
The weight of your loneliness —

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “Apartment”

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