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 |  (Letters to my brothers and others) March 2005 to May 2007. |
| 8-11-05 I get the privilege to auction off my words to the loveliest bidder. Yet they don't make you high once they hit your ears, after making their way from my mouth. When I speak to you it's truth. If I lied you could rock me up and down and leave me paper thin. We're not fit for interpretations or insinuations. Don't leave scissors open. We cut before we even know it slices deep. When are you going to learn that I'm the sheath beneath your incisor? I've tried to cut all problems off before they start, but you prefer to amplify them; be they real or not. It never seems to matter what anyone does for you. If it's not bout the past it's about the unserving future for you. That makes me uncomfortable being your rock of stability; the one you don't see hitting you right upside your actions. |
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