I am with you, now,
and the fear has set in;

usually it is not justified,
but you have proven to me two things.

One: You're heart is collapsible.
It was full, I could see it,
bloated with admiration for me,
and then after some beer and whiskey
it deflated and you turned
down the wrong street.

I chased after you not so much out of
desperation,
but out of disbelief,
and yelled at you,
pushed you,
woke you up to your
mistake.

No one has ever done anything like that to me,
except repeatedly
as a child,
when my mom would forget.

And I forgave you.
But maybe not,
because you have not yet
regained my trust,
and one misstep
could leave you cooling
outside the walls of my warm body.


Two: You have two seperate faces.
And these are out of order.
You've even said this doesn't count,
but it does.
You showed me one part of yourself;
the good part.
Then you turned and I saw the shadow of the other,
the face of some little boy
begging for attention;
mouth open like a baby bird,
waiting for the next empty woman
to feed his hunger.

And you took that and rejected me,
my heart was beating with fresh pain
while you fucked some little girl
with out a condom.

You cried to me about that, and then,
later, committed the first act
I've mentioned.



And then later,
in the hotel room,
when you were so mad at me for
cheating on you,

you said you had wanted to do those things.

Like it was some sort of excuse.
Like that made you better than me,
those things better than me sleeping with someone
when I was drunk
and you were gone.

Now, you are driving home from far away,
and I can't help but think
if this is the right thing.

If you will hold up your end of the truth,
and be the man I see in you.

Because I want you to be that man.
But I could be seeing a side of something
that isn't really there,

and you could again look away
for one second,
and the dark part could show.

I won't stay past that point.

03/31/2008

Posted on 04/01/2008
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