Social Precipitaion

 

To what do I owe

This visit

But this heart of mine.

Drag it through the dirt

But please leave it beating

With time.

 

To what do I owe

These gifts

But this hand of mine.

Bruise me till it hurts

But leave the surface

Unscathed.

 

To what do I owe

Your world

But to be perfectly perfect.

Smile and answer

As graceful as the

Trees leaves in the wind.

Dancing this deadly dance

That leads me nowhere

But upon the ground.