the ship is sailing

The happy road is not meant for me. Instead the gray gravel invites me to scrape up my knees. 

Vows I have plenty, they're imprinted in my bones. And won't you ever forget.
The times I walked out and waited for the sky to swallow me.
I waited enduringly, but all that happened was the clouds spitting at me, not even enough to drown me. Apparently I disgusted the sky, it didn't want my unsound bones. So now I won't even look up anymore, 

no matter how red the painting, for we haven't become allies as I wish we had. 

I keep strolling down my slopes beneath him, and wait for the day he grows tired of facing me.

                                                                                         

        attic, 2011