A restaurant is honest about what they have, more or less
Do you have real brewed Ice Tea?
May I have that table by the sea?
I've never settled into a restaurant, read the menu and run out
Dating is like being blind, maybe like that dark room at the Oakland "Exploratorium"
that I was always too scared to go in as a child
You hear what he has, and you have only your feelings to guide you
Alas, most are not good: man boy, been there, done that:
Exploded spine, dislocated ankle, internal injuries, crashed car or two or three
A feeling inside: no, I don't like this, but the conversation is only just beginning
and another voice says: poor thing, you must stay and help
And besides, it's rude to run out of a restaurant
This ain't no restaurant: psychology has told me
"This is all about your mother"
Poor thing, I had to stay and help, or she would become wickedly
brutally angry, a white rage to burn me to ashes, and I am blind
feeling my way through feelings that have been messed with, lassoed to the ground
hog tied, and somehow set themselves free, then learned to tie themselves down just to please
It's dark in here. No one can see if I run away.
I look around, see only blackness and no one can see me, not even she
I untie the ropes and walk away.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
A restaurant is honest about what they have, more or less
Do you have real brewed Ice Tea?
May I have that table by the sea?
I've never settled into a restaurant, read the menu and run out
Dating is like being blind, maybe like that dark room at the Oakland "Exploratorium"
that I was always too scared to go in as a child
You hear what he has, and you have only your feelings to guide you
Alas, most are not good: man boy, been there, done that:
Exploded spine, dislocated ankle, internal injuries, crashed car or two or three
A feeling inside: no, I don't like this, but the conversation is only just beginning
and another voice says: poor thing, you must stay and help
And besides, it's rude to run out of a restaurant
This ain't no restaurant: psychology has told me
"This is all about your mother"
Poor thing, I had to stay and help, or she would become wickedly
brutally angry, a white rage to burn me to ashes, and I am blind
feeling my way through feelings that have been messed with, lassoed to the ground
hog tied, and somehow set themselves free, then learned to tie themselves down just to please
It's dark in here. No one can see if I run away.
I look around, see only blackness and no one can see me, not even she
I untie the ropes and walk away.
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