Stray

I don't leave my house much these days.
Nobody asks for me anyway.
I think about all the other yesterdays
and all of the shit I still need to throw away.

It's funny when people try to say
that I live a life on the fray,
on the edges of disarray
as I keep my devils behind bars and at bay.

I hate myself for the way
I let you amuse me with wordplay
with your kind words and witty repartee
and even things you don't say.

I already expect you to betray
and you'll call it hearsay.
You're a verse turned essay
or a poem turned screenplay.

And to the God in whom I don't believe, I pray
that just this once He'll let you stay
to show me the path I couldn't lay
and hold my hand to ensure I won't stray.

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I worked on this for a couple days and now that it's done I feel pretty "eh" about it. Nothing surprising there, though. Haha.




"I dream of Michelangelo when I'm lying in my bed. I see God upon the ceiling; I see angels ovrerhead. And He seems so close as He reaches out His hand. We are never quite as close as we are lead to understand..." Counting Crows When I Dream of Michelangelo