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If White Men Can't Jump, Then Why Is My Head Always In the Clouds?
I always said expectations will be the death of both of us
I made this bed and now I'm lying in it
But I was lying when I said the nails were gone, cause they aren't
Now the bloods running and where you're sleeping just looks like a ritual gone wrong
And I could write a novel of indecencies you've taught me
But no one lives to an age to read something that long
At your roots, you have me to thank
Robin Hood might have put the arrow through the apple,
But the tree put the apple in his hands
When I start admitting,
Your gears start turning like the guts of a clock
Your stares in silence drop a bomb on my mindful city
so you might be ticking and counting down until I go away,
But even a broken clock is right twice a day
But you seem like you're ready for me to go
I hope that funeral in your head that plays for me
every time you text me back
Is enough complacency to keep us attached in the meantime
But I'm sure you know the dress code!
Perfect for your soul cause it's already dressed in black
You might be the one with a medal around your neck,
But I already won the trophy months before we even met
Let's forget the change in atmosphere
Let's make this cunning crisis
Into more of a road bump and less of a mountain
Besides, my ropes are starting to give out
And feet are starting to slip
And rushing water from your fountain of youth
Is the only liquid remedy I would sip
Your earth is hiding weapons!
This icicle cascading over me
is just a knife that's unassuming if it drips
You're a shiny new thing
But with too many miles
You're such a virtuoso at filling my tank
But with what fuel?
You're in the garage of mechanic
But you can't find a tool?
I held this intervention like I’d hold a dying bird
You’ve seen the death row-ers of a prison
But you still think this was cruel?
Copyright ©
Matthew Bailey
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