Put Me Down

You found me living from a suitcase, boiling coffee on the stovetop in a pan. I was a little too good for the workplace. A little too quick with a bad plan. I've always been an easy mark for razor-tongued women with good tattoos. They pick me up after dark. They put me down whenever they choose. Put me down.

The handle on that suitcase broke. I got myself a second pair of pants. You had script added to your left shoulder-piece that said, Never leave anything to chance. Everything I've ever left, I left for the chance of something new. I would have said the only way to hold me down was to run me through. Hold me down.

And if I'd had friends back then it's hard to say what they'd have said. Maybe whichever which way a river runs or bends it always lies back down in its river bed. And it don't matter what his collar says, a dog's gonna go back to the door where he's been fed. And it's the ones who say they love you most that throw you down in the earth after you're dead. Throw you down.

Beauty looks a lot like pain when it's newborn. Anger looks a lot like shame when it's been worn down to the nubs, down to the stubs, down to the get down, stay down, on your hands and knees rubbed raw by the twenty-five grit sandpaper jaws of a love you heard all about but never saw-blades can't cut you if you both stand still. A shark that don't move dies, but it don't kill. I think it's my turn to stay put and drown. I'd rather breathe saltwater than let you down. Let you down. You let me down.