Wish me luck, it hurts like hell.
Just when I thought it was safe to hold that conversation with you, you slap me with a cheap poker hand. Trust is a two way street. You put your cards on the table, including the one up your sleeve and now I see all your intentions and your masterful scheme. Was that your wild card or couldn’t you break old habits?
I am sick of you. I am sick of your lyricism and the cautious stopping in midstream while I try to determine the meaning of your words. Get in line; you’re almost dead to me. Go ahead and adorn those ornaments of hatred you have projected for so long. Some day you’ll see your errors and I won’t be here. I throw into the heavens everything that could possibly happen. Do whatever you choose to do whenever you choose to do it. I’ll not wait and I’ll not lay wake. You are a naked child fighting against a hungry wolf and I have no confidence in you to see anything but your own ability to do wrong but blame me. You are quite good at it. You loved by constriction. You hated only when I couldn’t survive your death grip.
I stood on your burning deck and decided to jump then I was blamed because I fled. I went back for you when I thought I could. You opened the door and let me in, but you are plastic and you resumed your original form when things got warm. You have a great ability to call up the past. I wanted to be in the present but you refuse. Go ahead and leave me alone. Eventually my cruel scars will heal. Your cunning ploy to fool would-be outsiders does you no good.
I laugh while I pass through your thunder and your wielding flail of lashing blame. I’ll survive. No matter how ugly the end is, it will be a beginning for me.
