Hard times

We saw him
take a wrong turn somewhere,
driving
through heartbreaking,
loveless, summer.
He never turned back.
Audrey Horn is dead,
and I've realized
all too fast
that Isaac Brock
was right about
the good times;
they're killing me
too.

We're asking so many questions.
These are hard times.
For me,
these are hard times.

I wonder,
sometimes,
if you're there
waiting for me,
or is it just a silhouette,
a phantom,
that I see? standing
on that pedistal
as the world collapses away in all directions
and falls
into infinite blackness.
Either I have hopes
for something too great,
or the promises are empty.

We're asking so many questions.
These are hard times.
For me,
these are hard times.