Green
it seems as though
a thousand years have passed
us by
and you have reduced me
to some kind of
common piece of furniture
you’re over here
i’m over there
looking at each other;
reflections in smoked glass
taking our norm and twisting it to fit
your perfectly sick fantasy of
comfort and security
quiet, deep inside
you like to be
ruled, told
how and what
to think and feel
then, in the end
it was never really you;
lying to ourselves is the worst thing we can do
and you say
you don’t wanna be like me
it would be nice to be green again
without the depth of time
and the gravity of life
strapped tight around my heart
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