Why?

Why on earth would You, You-

...the guy who sits in the tank of tears
he sheds for himself, by himself
and then proceed to complain about
how wet and salty his self-imprisoned abyss
feels and tastes as he swims along...

-choose to remain in the situation-tragedy
that You yearn so desperately to escape?



Why?

Why the hell should I perch here-

...with a smile beaming across my face
A smile that spans wide between
two open auditory doors awaiting
the very complaints I've heard and
even tried to rectify once or twice before...

-and be subject to fain what it is You want to hear
in order to keep order in Your perfect world
of fallacies and phallic symbols, users and narcs,
and brilliantly burned out angels seeking a home
for the daggers they clutch behind their lyre's
meanwhile never once feeling the cold steel
protruding from between their white wings?


Why?

Why place Your lover on a pedestal-

...an idolization to which only seems to become
important and necessary when You are the one
doling it out, which tends to be more infrequent
than my need for You; my adoration, my desire,
for You- but when I express my wanting affection,
You are forcibly quick to cede my libido-driven lust
with Your indefinite list of excuses and road blocks...

-and then be the only person who can actually
tear down that wooden showcase out from under
what I was lead to believe were stable feet
legs, knees, torso, body, skeletal structure?
A platform in which my entire being curls up
naked and in plain view, bleeding, wounded,
vulnerable to Your every action and reaction.


Why?

Why in heaven's name would You-

...my lover, the only entity that has kept me
locked in the city limits of this wretched metro
consistantly on the balls of my now wobbling feet
tip-toeing through the never ending streets
in a Purgatory of waiting, and waiting....and waiting,
not able to advance onward, upward, outward
without the answer to my one simple yet
completely life altering inquiry to You...

-allow my world to come crashing down to pile
into ruins before I make my fabled leap
out of the boroughs with the ever-weighing
realization that You may not be at my side
when all of this is finally said and done?


All I can say is this...


"I can't tell You what to do."
It sounds so simple, but it's been the toughest
words for me to adapt to thus far in my life
let alone verbalize without breaking the dam
of emotions that hold back the torrential downpour
building up behind my chocolate-covered portals.


All I can do is this...


Express what I foresee is the best result
for the both of us and serve the tennis ball.
Lobbing it into Your court. What are You to do?
Are You going to volley it back to me?
Just as I hoped that You would,

or

would You stare blankly as the bouncing ball
enters then leaves Your clay square,
then walk back amongst the crowds in the stands
without a word or even twinge of emotion?
Just as I feared that You could.