How many walls have you written on,
and for that matter,
how many times have you broken your wrist?
I've seen you lean against the surface,
bending it at angles that are far more complex than your message.
Why do you run to the docks?
Are you ashamed of what you've done?
I'm sure you know how dirty the water is,
and you're never greeted by anyone.
Had you asked,
I'dve come along,
even cast out my line and listen to you talk.
I prefer your wrist and diginity in tact.
I prefer your phonecall to be out of freewill,
and I hope when you hang up the line,
we never have to start this over again.
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