A heart dangles on frayed rope,
choking chance with immortal trope.
Smoky tears are wrung from torsion,
disappearing down a painted slope.
I had a self-inflicted notion
that words could set our life in motion.
Truth so tender it hurts to smile.
Silhouettes descend toward the ocean.
Life, you said, has been a great pile,
so I stuffed my mouth with dust and bile,
sliding backward just for kicks.
Thought it would turn around in a while.
Gingerly treading on shattered bricks,
been trying to right this wrong since I was six.
I got time, though hope I'm not your last pick,
for waiting to be your new problem to fix.
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