Longing for Something More

Planted in putrid soil,
I fear I've become a weed.
Trapped in a time
too painful to stay,
and yet too painful to leave.
Oh to vomit... to release...
what I was forced to swallow.
To float free.
My heart, my arms,
detached and zipped up
in black guitar cases;
sit waiting for me
to use them.
To appreciate them.
Please be patient.
I am unable to grasp you now.
And numb from kindred spirits,
I have not forgotten.