tightrope phase
Teetering, if you fuck me up I’m still not bleeding,
not a change of pace or a slip of grace will break me.
There’s never music on in his car.
And later on, the scars in question
will imply all sorts of deception
I’m not willing to engage.
It’s just a phase.
Just a messy phase.
They’ll both just linger on until we act upon
all our guilty little pleasures.
Teetering, if you wake me up I’m still half sleeping,
not a give up gift or a moment’s bliss will heal me.
There’s never talk of the ones who left.
But the theft will not be guiltless,
and I’ll lose my attempt as a mistress
only half way through the page.
It’s just a phase.
Just a messy phase.
They’ll both linger on until we act upon
all our guilty little pleasures.
