Old Men

I can’t seem to stop my mind. To control the thoughts, memories, dreams, and wishes that always seem to flood in when my head hits this pillow. I constantly worry over concerns out of my control, “Wait… what was that? Was that about me?” “She’s out there, but I always seem to never find her.” “I wish you’d call me more than a friend but I’m too afraid to try and make you more And too respectful of what you have with someone else.” Hoping that my future will all line up I feel isolated by this. Like an old, weathered man destined to worry about all the ill that I know fills the world. Thrust into adulthood by seeing how my family struggles with money or how one person can come so close to tearing a 21 year strong marriage apart. How the blind rage can fill my father’s eyes and I can feel the same coursing through my veins, like a virus. Dormant until it decides otherwise. Missing the person I used to hold in my arms at night or bring them soup when she was sick. Feeling my friendships from high school slip through my fingers, like sand. Fearing failure and knowing that the only salvation I’ve found comes from a bible or a bottle.