A Dead Man Living

~ Frank Solanki

I cried myself to sleep

Knowing we’re apart

I woke up in the morning

With a hole in my heart

You are so close to me

Yet you are so far

I wish I could make good

The way that things are

The thoughts in my head are unforgiving

I’m nothing more than a dead man living

…

I have promised myself

That I will learn to let go

I will try to hold on

To all the things that I know

Sometimes I feel that

Everything’s alright

But I am only kidding

Myself in the night

I am in a state of constant seething

I’m nothing more than a dead man breathing

…

Should I run back to you?

Should I be running away?

If I change myself would

Fortune turn my way?

One moment I’m hopeful

The next I just quit

I’m fearing every step

Yet I’m scared to admit

The hours and days I just spend grieving

I’m nothing more than a dead man living

…

Well here is a warning

To all the boys and the girls

Love may seem pleasing

But it’s a terrible curse

The more that you love

The more you are hurt

It will clip all your wings

It will grind you to dirt

The angels can be quite unforgiving

I’m nothing more than a dead man living

Published by Frank Solanki

Making the world a better place one poem at a time.

38 thoughts on “A Dead Man Living”

  3. All of this is beyond “good”–these lines I especially like: “It will clip all your wings

    It will grind you to dirt”. If I may share a bit–I’m an old woman who left love behind long ago, and thought I was “safe”. However I discovered recently that even love for a friend–nothing romantic, more “familial”–can be just as agonizing at some point where you wonder if you hallucinated the whole thing; because it seems you have nothing in common with the person, and your needs for friendship (particularly as it’s long-distance) will never be met…and you’ve invested 8 years and feel emptied out, bled dry. If this is just too much, please delete.

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  16. I sure hope you keep all this hidden from any new lovers you find. If I read the manic mood swings that these poems represent I’d buy a can of pepper spray and a whistle. Of course, this is all “art” and as an artist you’re conjuring up emotions from the ether and writing them down as non-representative of your own life… Right? Right?

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  17. Sweetheart, I came upon your blog and my breath was taken, as this so describes what I am going through with my family. I have just recently come to terms with the fact that despite my strongest love, my family purposefully targeted me over and over again. Kept away from nieces and nephew I adored, every family vacation, the cruelty is beyond imagination. Through this, I have gone through alcoholism, drug addiction, CPTSD and so much more. My point is this, if you are writing about the Jezebel spirit? Let her go. Run as if your hair is afire~

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