pass on by
through me
and get an idea
of what i'm about
before you talk about
who or what i am
and what you think;
you haven't thought
just yet it seems
because we're still
ill-acquainted
in this ill-fated
dramadey.

you'd had me at hello,
and i knew it was a show
from the opening number
to the closing curtains;
you weren't acting though.

you were harboring something
and you couldn't really tell me
what the plot finalized in
as it came out in your expressions;
it all made sense in time.

you've never heard a thing
it's just a ploy, you say
just to hear what to say
and nobody's been listening.
there's nothing coming out
to make anyone care
that you've let down your hair
and finally had something to say.
but i heard it all
and i can say it wasn't
what i'd expected to hear
because i wasn't near
i heard just the pieces.
that you need to pick up on
and stop putting yourself on
to the constant income
to be put into outcome.
where's it leading you
and why are you going
**that far?

on the brink of a river, there's plenty to see
on the brink of insanity, there's only me
and as i fall forward, i don't put my hands out
and as i hit the ground, i know what and why this came about.

you couldn't stand being dealt the truth
so you needed somebody else to handle it
with kid gloves, brutally *displayed
over various acts of violence; violently
handled like it was a child, misbehaving
and now it's flown off the handle.
and you're standing empty-handed.

it's not only the disease in my mind
that's been left so far behind
by the mass time you've spent
in your self regret
and mutilation of the facts
and aimless, allegorical attacks
based off of your life's lies;
how they've been goodbyes
and never hellos.
or good mornings.
or any salutation, noticeably
cold and distraught collectively
for the sickness that you've left behind.

we'd worked it all out in our heads
but when we'd made it to our beds
our dreams ruined everything
and we pulled apart anything
to make some sense of something.

we'd worked it all out on paper
but it slowly reached the shredder
for the sake of it never working out
because what this was all about
was deeper than the tile; it was in the grout.

so we had to start at the base
and gave ourselves the space
to make it all work in one way
and that's when i began to say,
"you're dead, as the horse is to his hay."