Everyday Is February

Everyday is the end of February

And I am still waiting for spring.

I still wait for my phone to ring

Waiting for the solace your sweet voice brings.

Flowers still bloom, tides change with the moon

And spring is always a sleep away,

Wake me at the month’s end.

I see you not as dead, but simply not here.

This February has lasted too many fucking years.

I spent years in the garden

Trying to grow life from a graveyard

But you walk out of stony fields changed

Like you left part of yourself in that box,

A grave twelve feet deep

Buried myself beneath

Is this soil or concrete?

I try cook, but I cook with meat

My hands made for the kill

My love for you is not money

But I payed my bills.

After a while grief has a way

Of making the world stand still

So every day is February,

This love money at a cost

My house is not haunted

But I wish it was.

Years wasted waiting for a call

Took your pictures off the wall

The one thousandth day of the month I see

Everyday is the end of February.

I hope Death held your hand on the way out,

I hope the end was beautiful, and quick.

I hope, when you crossed the river from now to next time, you smiled

And if you never wish to return,

I cannot say I blame you,

Because since you left

Everyday is the end of February.