Tossing my way through the midnight gardens-
Disappointment blossoms in his eyes, studying the horizon
As my life raft drifts further from the ship he thought I loved.
The path is always forked, or circular, never straight-
Suspicious of the spark in his eyes, the salesman circling the deck
Like a shark, sniffing out fresh meat. Swearing his diet is fish free.
Myriad pinpricks of color dot the direction of the horizon
blossoming tales of hope, although their spines betray the message
Land, I can see, but my vessel is sinking- I am afraid I'll never make it.
I could turn back and he might still, rescue me-
But do I want to be rescued? Or do I want to continue drifting
And pray, that I make ashore somewhere, anywhere, other than here?