We
Free
See
What we could have been
Who we should have been
Where we would have been
You and Me
We would have seen
Us

My chains hold me here to see you, keeping me from running away
The list of all that needs to be done goes on for eternity
Death is real.
Death of laughter.
Death of fear.
Death of hope.
Death of me.
I cease to exist, choking, laughing.
Please let me say "Good Bye"
Dear God, let me fly
Far, far away
Let me slip far away.

You, on the High road,
You're lower than you've ever been
Stomping on her fragile glass
with the hammer of your selfish whims
smashing perfect gilded dreams
hiding in skeletal remains unseen
that might have been;
a chance to right the wrong you did
was a never a thought, a notion, or wish...
Clutching her spine with all your grip
you twist
you win
You, on the High road
Lower than you've ever been.

.............................Water
                      lifts me
                up, flitting
             through my
                 fingers as
                   my hands
                            row by.



                                Both
                       moon and sun
                    float high above in
                 blue outer space. I see
                 them through fronds of
                   a palm tree sprinkling
                       light rays on my
                                face..............................

Soothing liquid drinking vine
Mondavi,  Bare Foot and their kind;
dry Chardonnay wine.
Monsters flee and angels race with every sip, a  faster pace, hiding horrors ...in their place;
strong Chardonnay wine.
You are loyal, kind and never blue, waiting in a bottle true, ever faithful, always new;
cheap Chardonnay wine.
Forget Chablis and Moscato, turn your back on Sauvignon Blanc. Even popular Pinot Grigio won't give you what you want. The reds are not in question, their often on my mind.  But in the end, I'm  loyal, and there's only just one kind;
very strong, very dry, very cheap and very mine;

Chardonnay wine.

My darling Romeo hypocrite


You try on love cringing in fear.


You think you are stoic?  You think you are strong?

Go then.  Go far, and far and yes even farther away. 

When exhaustion chokes you back here and pride is washed away, pull back the shades dear and have a beer.

He doesn't know about the money. He would **** me if he knew.  The painted picture of who I am is who he loves. Not me.

I enjoy him on the edge of a precipice, knowing a handy shovel in the back yard could clock me on the corner of my head.  He's used it before as a metaphor.  He said, "Hold on," stepping off the porch to the back woods of our yard.  He walked too purposefully to take a break to ***.  I knew! Instinctively I knew.

The shovel was in his sight.

Dread drenched me in cold, clammy clutches.  I searched for my escape, left and right.  Even up or under the couch. To no avail! There was none!  His eyes were black as stone, one hand around the wooden shovel shaft and one grasping the porch door handle to open it.

He walked in and stood over me, glaring down into my eyes.  Astonishingly and calmly he laid the shovel against the arm chair of our patio couch and asked me why I wanted to dig his grave.

Relief washed over me in a peaceful symbiotic wave.  I wasn't going to die!

Our conversation garbled on,  talking, talking, talking on.

He doesn't know about the money. He would **** me if he knew.