Sore Subject

Like a helpless captive, a distraught midwife
 Like a Libran husband and a Capricorn wife
 I turn to wine and whiskey and these cryptic songs
 Maybe I'm passive aggressive or maybe I'm wrong
 But don't go yet, old lipstick, old cassettes
 Clutter the carpet where my futile head rests
 And I'd explain it, but I've long-since dismissed
 The thought of vitality, you'll get nothing out of me
 But don't go yet
 And like a sore subject, objective pursuit
 Like a fearful me or an asinine you
 And we avoid eye contact as I'm just dragged along
 Maybe I should just grow up or maybe I'm wrong
 As soon as my eyes avert, more skin of alabaster
 You don't warn me before, you just devastate me after
 And like a dangling noose or like an endless sea
 We both know how to love and I think you owe more to me