In My Room

i must have grown behind the head with the toad stools. entering on me, his flashlight gleam burned my eyes, as it curled off the wet floor. he only sees my smile and hears my half-hearted dialogue on the flip-side of my one-way mirrored coin. in my room, i rolled over heads to what i am. spokes were there to hold his tires -- which i lacked. riding, he soared over cross nails, while i trod there flat. gravity had an affinity to me. i stuck effortlessly, when the mud kissed my soles. in my room -- where i died in life, he lived in his -- dumb-struck in ignorance, young again, exploding wiser, and better in restlessness eternally. he was so right, he never did guess i cut him clean every chance i got and felt alright in the filth aftermath. he never did think i could have been unfaithful to him every glance that i got and reveled rebelled the sweet lament. in my room, i rolled over heads to what i am. he believed the part of me i hoped would die. in my room -- away from his -- i could be what it took for him to see.