Effort.

My kingdom is on fire as I drown in Irish whisky,
Looking at our old photographs,
reading our old letters and my diary.
Every ounce that I spared, thinking or just flowing, they were true, I never preached,
but those were pure, under the solemn vows I made to gods I never believed,
I tried, I am trying.

But you, you left, walked away, left me
in a trail of my own disgust and in doubt
of my efforts, words, promises, love.

It's 3.42 AM, and I am still waiting, hoping
with my breath held in anticipation and wish.

And for what?

Just so you can forgive me.

My kingdom burns to the ground,
and I can't even laugh.