When The Lights At The End Of Your Pier Go Out

I wrote your number in my favorite book,

Folded it between the yellowing pages.

Only to remember I have to stay in the sun,

Only to remember where my rage is.

But your whispers follow me around sometimes.

They tell me phrases I want to hear.

You chose the darkest night to go silent,

You threw me into the waves from a pier.

Now I still carry this guilt like shackles,

Some days I use it as a carbon steel sword.

It takes all the power that I have gathered

To never kill myself with your words.

If one day my armour finally fails me,

I hope it traps you in unrepayable wages.

I wrote your number in my favorite book,

Burned the covers and ripped the pages.