He hit me with that "baby it's not you, it's me"
Foolish to think he'd be someone I could always count on like 1 plus 2 equaling 3.
So I drag my luggage alone,
headed deep into the metaphors of my mind. Drenched in tears of another
counting the sorrows, both his and mine.
You see it's hard to unwind when my heart is confined to the diminutive space in his
playing the devil's concubine.
Renaissance man of a thousand troubles, open up and tell me how you really feel. Quit hiding behind such fragile masculinity and kneel..
Before a young Kali in the flesh.