One Foot Still In The Door Poem by Mark Heathcote

My insides are feeling hollowed out
Yes, I've been tossed aside before
But this time is different it's-a-drought
My heart is wilting, dried up to the core.

I listen intently for any reason to stay
There are only lies on top of lies
What we had ripe fruit rots and fades away
I take comfort in the mould that slowly dies.

How it lingers to survive, but untimely croaks
This now how it feels holding your photograph,
The fire is dead-it-no longer sparks, smokes
And your old love letters read like an epitaph.

Love hearts and kisses engraved on a tomb,
I ask myself which way you lean
But plain as day there's-nothing to exhume
All I need now, a match and some gasoline.

I ask myself which way I lean
Finding myself with one foot still in the door
Vying this darkness back into its ravine
I, wanting you back once more.


~or~

His insides are feeling hollowed out
yes, he's been tossed aside before
but this time is different it's-a-drought
his heart is wilting, dried up to the core.

He listens intently for any reason to stay
there are only lies on top of lies
what was ripe fruit now rots and fades away
he takes comfort in the mould that slowly dies.

How it lingers to survive, but untimely croaks
this now how it feels holding her photograph,
the fire is dead it-no-longer sparks, smokes
and her old love letters read like an epitaph.

Love hearts and kisses engraved on a tomb,
he asks himself which way he lean's
but plain as day there's-nothing to exhume
all he needs now, a match and some gasoline.

He asks himself which way he lean's
finding himself with one foot still in the door
vying this darkness back into its ravine
he, wanting you back even now once more.