Old friends

Well then. Alone again.
Familiar emptiness within, without,
I could shout
without being heard.

That's ok. It's always the way
it seems to go. I know
Oh, how I do know
the way failure feels, sliding over my tongue,
down my throat, nesting inside,
multiplying, devouring, destroying.

My oldest friend. We understand each other,
my god and I.

He'll wait for me when the last breath
leaks from my chest, oozes out, dissipates
into the atmosphere and I drift.

He'll wait for me, no one else will,
when night descends sharply
shutting eyes, stopping heart,
that final sweet silence cocooning.

Failure, my old friend.
I'll take your hand.
Lead on.