If this place isn’t safe for my soul,
Then it’s best believed I leave,
So when I talk of intentional goodbyes over the phone,
It’s a saturated decision I try to reinforce
Within the boldness of my voice,
The irony of not wanting to rely on expressions,
While my inner self is tinted with indiscretion.
If this rhythm doesn’t match my dance,
It’s best to believe that I might trip off my toes,
So when I’m overly cautious about making decisions,
It’s a radical fear that embalms my hate for failure.
If I love and it isn’t reciprocated,
It’s best believed I’ll be heartbroken,
So I’m expectant of the luscious endings of the pleasurable outcome,
While I’m also estimating a perfect calculus of the measurable pain
If it goes sideways. If I’m on the verge of losing all I have,
Then it’s reasonable to assume that I’ll be alone,
A presumable lone exodus might be the genesis of the outcome.
So in retrospect, I romance myself
With pain by seductively dipping my memories in agony,
That’s why my heart is leathery laced with a selective resistance to hurt.
For all that I have today,
It’s best believed that I hold them tight,
And for all I aspire,
It’s best to believe that I acquire them.
And for all that I’ve lost,
A wormhole of regrets excavates my mind,
Automated frowns and blurred smiles
Manifestations of that sad side,
Still, reality is a sublime blend of all possibilities.