Missing

You didn’t call. You didn’t write.
Things got intense & you took flight.

How good a friend could you have been?
A decade plus & no check-in?

You never again saw my face.
No darkened doors at either place.

Then, reprieved, a long recover.
Baby steps; no friends or lovers.

I shouldn’t have closed my black book.
But revival, all my strength, took.

Not an excuse; just a reason.
I lost y’all by outright treason.

What else could I call giving in?
I blame my pride’s forsaking sin.

Each fresh hell made me more burden.
Sad soup I’d not have you stirred in.

I carry fault; I know that’s true.
But…I was dying; what’s your excuse?