falling forward

he'll fall down a well if we're not careful.
spotless kitchens there are to clean,
and he toils away, listlessly losing
out on you
because his eyes are tugging
every which way.
and he sits and stares and remembers a day
when the sun was bright and your eyes were high
and he pushes it back
because he's falling forward.

they say it's just friction
or a mental disease that's making him scream,
but somewhere he knows that you
are what he means.
when he tries to speak,
you are the words that come out
only less crude and perhaps
more dashingly,
destroyingly,
real.