Suburban Decay

While your coffee brews,

And your morning cigarette turns to ash.

I bet you think about me.

When cold winds bite so hard,

 you begin to weep.

I bet you think about me.

When your eyelids feel Atlas’ burden,

And you yearn for the dark.

I bet you think of me.

But if you do not.

And if I’ve never danced in your dreams,

If I’ve never tugged at your heart, 

or even caught your eye.

Then and only then,

could I finally die.

-Rob Padfield