and i will wilt
before i work you out
and they will bury me up to my neck
in my own guilt

the strangers follow me
and wait for me, there in the dark
they are ready to pounce
when i fall apart

i remember writing letters
to those i was with
to those i really liked
those eager to give me their gift

and barriers seem to be trees –
that grow higher each day
do i mean as much to you, as you do to me?

like when we had doors
but the doors opened into a building
and we had too many flaws
perhaps beauty itself is fatally flawed