my imagination works overtime

running me ragged

making mountains out of speed bumps

set in place only to try

to slow me

down

 

but they don’t

 

I use them

just to catch more air

 

yea, it’s up hill, baby

both ways

you make it like that

It’s tiring as hell

climbing over the walls of your opaque construct

when you could just untrap the trapped door

let me walk in

like I own it

instead of letting me beg

But you wont

so I creep around to the back

looking for another way in

 

I am not a thief

but I can pick a lock with my eyes

if I have to

 

That snake-oil salesman’s voice of yours

still in my head

comes slitheringout

oozing charm

from behind a hiding place where you never have to tell the truth

or show your face

you are dripping all over

filling up the space you created between us

with greasy well-used

subterfuge

but I can slide on that slick

Slick

Because it’s me who's used to doing the skating