Evening

A phone call for solidarity.

Do you still love me?

I thought I could make it in this big, big pond.

But my voice is quavering as I ask you

a question about something trivial.

Whatever you say, I will only hear:

you will make it, dear one; you're fighting against the tide.

You don't need one single thing.

You're mine, mine, mine.

Or

Your time is not now, your welcome worn thin.

You certainly lack what it takes.

How dare you bring home your wealth of mistakes!

Answer me as if I were bleeding.

But do not let me know that it is your compassion that speaks to me, heartsore.

I would rather believe it is the truth.