We break down.
Explode with tears of granite.
Bruce Banner crazed.
(look him up too – he was a nice fellow until…)
And somehow we make it back for more.
At the time of destruction you know for sure you are dead inside.
You know it with such certainty that there is no point in arguing perspective.
Complete morons are gospel to you.
(Especially if well dressed.)
And then you wake up.
What is my insecurity?
If I name it, it vanishes – even if just for a moment. Poof! Gone.
Then it sneaks back in. I fight it off. Tell it to get in line.
Idiotic and wasteful relationships
That were once a learning experience have become
Money, age, blah, blah, blah.
What a bore.
And yet, it is human.
It is normal.
We have to die
To be reborn.
As cliché as it sounds.
We are no different from a plant…
In some ways anyway.
Oh you know
Like the burned out Joshua Tree
Our roots are still alive.
Not to say that some fears are not valid.
Because they are.
They just don’t get to drive the ship.
Seriously, they shouldn’t even be allowed in the wheelhouse.
Especially with a cocktail.
In the end we just want to be loved.
The cliché is a cliché
Because it’s true.
To be held with love,
Just the warmth of someones arms
Giving you strength
For the morning.
So deliciously simple.
Is that too much to ask?
Too much to give?
Oh Dion, where is the love indeed…
(look her up)