vulnerable is what I am.
Tears brim to the surface, overflow, fall hit the ground.
I try to catch them with my fingers so they are clandestine.
"don't screw me over...please." I whisper too silently to hear
The whisper sounds like a vindictive laugh,
a laugh to enjoy the irony of a about to be broken heart,
but also to share in the bitter hatred shared by two, two many.
the river continues each tear falling between freckles,
each breath causing a pause in the path.
each plea....
"don't screw me over.."
Fear creeps into my heart, like a vine in the summer.
grows slow, slow enough not to notice until its covering the entire path.
To much is seen, always hope,
but hope is the leader of destruction, of despair.
I dream of ideals of joy and forget to watch my step.
Choose not to see the pit falls,
decide not to look over my own warning signs:
"please don't screw me over"
watch out, falling rocks ahead, next four miles.
my path becomes rocky and small
my feet begin to slip I'm wearing bad shoes,
not prepared for the pain I'm running into.
My feet and heart yell,
"please don't screw me over"
my shoes worn, souls thin, like my own from too much use
like a bum on the side of the road with a clever cardboard
"I'm vulnerable, broken hearted, and in need of food...
please don't screw me over."
all the cars pass by, some stare and remark
"poor child must of seen it coming."
poor little girl with tears in her eyes, worn soul on her feat,
a slowly hurting heart, with her non-understandable words
and tear stained dirt covered sign
with a name to blurred to read all saying
"don't screw me over...please"