This is a story you’ll remember in your darkest hour
When all other friends have flown
Because you can change a phone number
You can black out a thousand drunken tattoos
But you can never forget the unfortunate, infallible truth
That even though your humble narrator has proven they can find you
(with ease)
In any timeline,
In any generation,
They no longer care to.
And they were the only one that cared to begin with.
“Don’t bother. He’s a lost cause.”
“Let him live his life.”
No matter who I asked, all responses were calloused
Almost as if they wanted you to stay gone forever
But still, I pressed on, proving not only to you
But to myself as well
That your escape plan failed.
And my messages and calls could ring
From the pits of Hell to the Halls of Time
If I so desired.
And there will come a time, when you expect it least,
For even if your number changes,
Mine will always be the Neighbor of the Beast.
And in the trench of Death, alone, you’ll call my name:
I’ll hear, but I won’t answer.
You did just the same.
