I stand, where the rain can't reach me
where the pain doesn't push and pulsate
beneath the umbrella
made of wasted words and broken bones

She hangs down on me
and over me
she catches the dirt from the road
and the flies from the sky
I stay safe and dry
beneath her skin
made of brown, yellow, and red

She keeps me clean,
against her best intentions
but it is I who control
when she's up and when she's down
the pale, salty skin of my hands
pushes her down, holds her up and over
my head, soft hair, light brown tresses

She, is the bright life in the sky
and the dark mother of the moon
but I will never know
and they will never see
because she lives in my possesion
her only use is for me.