He says he tells me

More than anyone;

He talks to me

About all of his problems –

I know when something is wrong,

I sense it

I ask

He tells

I listen…

He comes to me for answers


I give him what he came for –

He takes it gladly and leaves…

Away to wherever he goes,

No worries

No problems

All taken care of,

If just for the moment.

I'm happy to be there for him,

To support him in his trouble.

He says he tells me

More than anyone…

But about me

He knows nothing.

I pick up on his every worry,

His silent whispers of confusion

But he…

He will never hear me –

My pleas…

Though I scream them

He will never even look up.

I feel like I'm dying

Right in front of him

On the cold hard ground,

Watching as my life slowly drains away;

He comes to me

To bandage his wounds –

His small wounds,

Blinding himself to the fact

That all of my life is rushing out.

My time is almost up;

He doesn't know

Yet one day he will seek me

To heal him once more

And I will be gone.

No more will I be able

To bandage his wounds

Or comfort him;

I will be but mere dust

Here on this earth.

Will he realize it then?

That all of the times he came

With his little problems

I was secretly dying

Of ones far more painful…

Will he care?

Will he wish that he had been there

To comfort me

As I always did for him?

Or will he mourn my loss

As his loss…?