they ask if i’m sad, if i’m mad
but they don’t realize i’m willing to die again
fate versus teardrops
i’ve held bombs and i have this pretentious feeling of knowing it all
i strike the gong and listen to waves through the air
sometimes it feels as if you’re standing there
i can feel your hair, the smell and the way your fingers felt
it was always surreal and for some reason, i could never take the wheel
the occasional howl here and there
i flip a dime and wonder one day if you’ll ever be mine
that maybe i should cut and sign the dotted line
in contrast, my future shouldn’t depict my past
we talked about in time, but i sat and stared into your eyes
looked at your elbow as you said, “i’m getting old”
had no words, only thoughts
i watched as you said, “i’m still here”
words came and went and everything i said, i meant
laid on the bed and tossed you the machete
you knew i was ready
i always pled, “please don’t make it messy”
you sipped your iced coffee as i smiled and nodded
but i always knew you had the mind of a child
that a life of wild is something i can’t change
which is why i never pulled the mat
and why i never asked you to walk the nile or even drive a half a mile