My love has always been
like gasoline and fire, there's always
and generally I try to keep it
where I am the one doing the hurting.
This sounds bad out loud, but to a certain degree
most people would rather perpetually be the bad guy
the perpetually be the bad guys plaything.
In any case, I have built
walls and fences and booby traps
full of razor wire and spears and poison
around the tenderest bits of my heart and soul
because I don't like pain in any form
which is interesting, because I seemingly court it
in all directions.
So why is it, after all of the protection I have
employ and own
that all it takes to hurt me in the morning
is a man
who doesn't seem to care about anything
but where I moved his keys?