i suppose the destructive force
the one that really gets me, that comes back for more
is the idea:
you can't do something special and live a long, healthy life.
you can't be better; you'll never be better
because you're not willing to give certain things up, or away.
that blue tape we use to put everything on our walls; painters tape,
i don't see it until (well) until i do
poking out and under, up and behind and peeling and
suddenly it's kind of hard to live in a space
that grew without me
i carry last year's tension on my back and in my neck, too
the fear of losing things that aren't yet rightfully mine
taking things that don't want to be taken
waking up to find
if i never came a-knocking, neither would you.
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