Bluebell With A Broken Heart. The Sequel.

 
All my friends have broken apart
I wrote them into neat poems and verse
Imbued them with sparkle, tried to lift the curse
But their passion just floundered and the pain got worse
And the misunderstanding, the reasoning too
All my friends have nothing to do
With what it seems they’re going through
They are all algorithms, all computations
Mathematical theoretications
Abstracts of skin and the blood they are shedding
A précis of love and the mores they’re wedding
Superglued down to a few circuit boards
They are bored, but hairy, hungry and tired
Defying the digital with their unfocused eyes
All my friends have new ways to die

 
Now they know the words, sometimes sing along
But none of my friends want to be in my songs
They’re all about heartbreak, suffering and truth
All my friends want nothing to do with me
No time to spare, no time to wait
No time to sing sea shanties into the night
The ether, the ever, the over and over
The counterpoint cascades
The carefully constructed charade
The parade of characters
And the cast, the extras, the chorus, the choir
All my friends slowly slip away
With nothing to speak about
Nothing to say, no requirements
None of my friends want to live my curse
Yet they happily wave as the hearse pulls away
Hoping they never get to see me this way

 
All my friends
Know who they are
They scratch the itch
And ignore the scar

 
January 2015 Derek Wilson

 
A response, of sorts, to this from 2008:

http://delboywilson.com/2009/04/04/bluebell-with-a-broken-heart/

~ by Derek Wilson on January 3, 2015.