she's afraid of reoccurring nightmares
afraid of choosing a single instrument to play, she can't stay with one
beautiful sound-producing musical wonderwall,
of committing herself to one,
and I was wondering if she was really talking about instruments
or talking about people,
talking about me--
am I a violin or a piano?
it doesn't matter because she says she wouldn't stay with any of them
anyway.
she's afraid of going downstairs to brush her teeth at night in the dark
and instead of picking up a tooth brush
she's afraid of picking up a razor in its place,
and god i tell her
all about my nightmares
how I run and outrun myself
or try to,
I reveal that I fear and love being
alive, I expose myself and my personal
horrors,
and I tell her, tell her it all, and for the first time
she looks at me with eyes that aren't empty,
eyes that are sorrowful as they are
compassionate and she tells me
"it's okay".