Shall every cry
Be for the sky
Shall every scream
Be for a happy dream

It's so frustrating
how all it takes
is three words
to make me want to cry
and pull a gray sheet over my blue sky;
"She killed herself."

I exist to serve myself, not others.
But for my selfishness, I wouldn't have survived.

Mutual...
Like the beach,
sparkling with radiance.
Openly welcoming the soothing
caress of the waves.
Allowing them to
playfully tug
at her toes
before retreating back
into the ocean tide.

Mutual...
Like the leaf,
that shines amber
in the autumn sun.
Silently inviting the wind
to sweep it off the threats
of the brittle twig.
Trusting the breeze to set it aloft,
in a whimsical spiral
before releasing it gently
into the safety of the ground below.

Mutual...**
Like you and I.
As we confidently
match each other's
gait in a display
of song and dance.
Though our exchange
remains unworded,
the promise of love
rings clear within
the clasp of your
willing hands
in mine.

I am a borrower
collecting things that shine
all stashed in cracks and hidey-holes
where the rafters meet the roof
in the basement floorboards
lift one and you'll see
the treasures I've collected
two gorgeous glassy eyes
seven gilded antique buttons
a bouquet of sweetly fragrant lilies
a gleaming jar of pixie dust
three noble barristers
an Irishman netting butterfly dreams
a sorceress of the endless prairie
windmills like soldiers all in a line
the saddest porcelain doll
a small brown bear
trains screaming by on underground rails
a sprinkling of desert blooms
six jack-in-the-boxes so I'm always surprised
the hairless stuffed dog that bit me as a child
a Rickenbacker bass softly riffing the blues
a farmer's Ovation to accompany my woes
seashells that sing the ocean breeze
a merman from the Northern seas
tucked away in every space
packed within each sweet hollow
these simple pleasures I have borrowed

I am not your savior and sure as hell not your friend
I’m the cleanup crew-your life’s dead end
I am not one to be toyed with, not one to be trifled
I’m the clearest voice you’ll ever hear with no way to be stifled
I am not prone to begging so watch me smirk at your prayer
I’m a lie concocted in style, a silver-tongued soothsayer
I am not a guy who feels very much, whose heart can ever cease to darken
I’m a product of reality’s riptides, the thing your nightmares harken