Hey baby..
I’m sorry for all the nasty gestures
that have been spit & pissed into the wind,
when the weather favored in your direction.
You were my candy. The sugar was always good
but I have been the Redhot tongue in your mouth,
and my face glared at me like a Warhead in the mirror.
This was our book to be written,
but these pages never turned;
because you read faster than me...
That was always the problem,
our expression too complex
in this formula of chemistry.
I never took a sip of it,
because I knew I wouldn't love it
so I threw it down and swiveled my foot
on you.
And you just burned - like my last cigarette
because I set you on fire and left you for ashes.
You were my medication taken once weekly;
enough to get me by - living life each Sunday
at a time in my world when everything was dead.
Now it seems green in the sense of change.
The fence has been painted
The yard has been mowed
The house has been cleaned
And you were Malcolm -
in the middle of it...
I am on the other side of the fence.
I did not jump by choice,
rather born here in fate.
What is not meant to be - is not brisk -
and not mint.
Wants and needs is truly a vocal point -
and you whispered in a deafened ear.
I cried out in need of a friend,
you just wanted to live a wife life
so I just laughed at your cooking skills.
You aren't seasoned enough to be on my plate,
I also wanted rare - not typical, sorry.
So?
You claimed everything when I left -
most were assumptions but you held onto them
like prized possessions.
It is the first-aid in your sense of belonging.
Do you remember what I forgot to tell you?
I might have gone window shopping every day,
but never did I walk inside and touch the glass.
How does that make you boil inside?
You have mistaken truth for lies,
and now it lies there - waiting for something false
to be pushed towards a point
that isn't sharp enough to prove anything...
I could drive on with you beside me
and speak those three words of cruelty.
But I refuse to go down that road.
I slammed on the brakes so something fragile wouldn't break,
instead it snapped in half and ricocheted off of my soul.
Workmen’s comp provided me with enough to get by,
you still need a job - and a different life to live.
You are un-employed and brings light to the fact
that we just won't work together.
I pave this road in hopes of stumbling across troubles
& if I fall may it be straight into the hands of success.
You were the sign before the dead end, so...
For you.
This
Is
The End.
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