It Ain’t You

photo by tps.
Going on down the road, 
Your hand inside my soul
Your thoughts in my brain
Your gypsy rags on my back
Your scars tied in an
Old kit bag
Nothing is real and 
Nothing is right
Nothing is the same
Not even the same old game
Of razors on pristine flesh
Needles digging new holes
Fresh inked sleeves pierced;
Mark me/
Mark my words
A thousand weird ways
A million lost tears
You tell me pitch the rock
Off the ledge
And roll it home
Skip the stone -  
In the end we die alone - 
Catch another rubber boot:
Some long discarded pirate loot
Knock the pigeon off the perch
Shooting cans and 
Sacrificing other people's lambs.
Where do you get off? 
Where do you presume
To use, 
To lose,
To judge
To claim -
To weave
Loss on a golden loom
And declare
You will not allow my tears
My weeping or my crazed
Year to say goodbye

I don't even know 
What I don't need anymore - 
Only what I do
And it ain't you.
It was never you.

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