Waste of Truth

   
   
I never hold any water,    
bones never shake.    
You can't trust someone    
who doesn't feel the rain.    
   
Wish I could tell you this, or myself.    
   
I've failed you before my dick    
is zipped back in my jeans    
after an all but innocent piss    
in our toilet.    
   
Our son loves me regardless    
and this itself is torture;    
he doesn't know any better yet.    
   
You'll always be wonderful    
because I can't hear your thoughts    
and I'm a beast because mine echo    
and even more so because I'm deaf.    
   
The artex ceilings remind of death:    
envisaging suicide as a twelve year old boy    
in my bedroom with holes in the wall    
that lived longer than the scars on my knuckles;    
now life, and how I'm too arrogant    
to take from myself what I don't deserve.    
   
You deserve better, and I'm going to wait    
'til I can hold the rain    
before I tell you any of this
 
and I hear your skin getting thinner
with every word I never say.