Another call from you in the middle of the night
confessing that I'm the only one who makes you feel all right.

Another tear to wipe off your cheek and taste on your salty lips.
Another man to come over and trace his tongue on your hips.

A phone call to help ease the lingering of such painful things.
The hope that maybe someday the bliss that tomorrow brings.

The dream of what was and what you hoped would be.
The nightmare of the reality you can't really see.

The daydream of a hand to hold as you pass along.
The reality of no one around to hear your song.

The drama of dealing with the bullshit you've designed.
The fantasy of the way you've just up and resigned.

The play that is known as your lifestyle
where you just sit around and cry a while.

01/16/2002

Posted on 01/16/2002
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