Unconstructive

I never thought your words could be
the pressed flowers of gravestone pages
littering the libraries of hushed secrets,
stacked high with the regrets
only book readers can give.

Boldly, I'd passed you my book across the table
a gesture of confidence that was slowly
broken out of my back bone.
Speaking with self assurance in the size
of my waist-to-hip ratio and almost long hair
and the unmistakable whisper of self confidence
I told you you'd be a good kyropracor.

Had I known then, the devious nature
of our multi dimensional world
with so many different sides to one coin
that i could spin one in my head
with endless ease
trying to find
the truth.

It's made of money, money and sin and beauty
and pain and sorrow and hope and destruction
it's made of my greed, your greed
our short comings.

So when i found out that your
pressed-lip-secrets
littered the libraries of my world
congealed in the cracks of my once straight
self image,
I decided to flip a coin

letting it land on my perception
of you.