Christine

4 Jan

She rationalizes things, between the seams of the illusions

That she keeps, to help her hide

Her candy-coated proclamations touched my dreams

And were so bitter as they trickled down inside

She brought the waking of some I’d put to bed

But with a drink of fear, and a handful of abuse

I met her indignation when I saw her mask

Or the remorse of one whose neck is in the noose

If you ever meet Christine, at first, you won’t see what I mean

Whimsical agendas are too fleeting to be sure

Those commitments she’d espouse are cumbersome to pass by mouth

But how I loved to swallow them, and down they’d go, so hard and sore

And Christine always loved to offer more

I’ll call you first thing Monday, she’d say again

And every time I did believe the phone would ring

Deep in my gut I knew it would never be

But I would eat her words of empty offering

So that’s the man I am, the fool to choose it

I’m so fearless when I know where it will go

So I’m no better, am I, I ain’t no worse

But am I bound to stay this way, well, I don’t know

Lord help me, oh Lord help me, it’s down to me

Out in this field of faults I stumble to the hole

My heart has broke in two, my mind’s a prison

And if I find her again I’ll lose my soul

1/27/00 Copyright 2000-2010, brent david fraser, all rights reserved

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