I searched for your heart
like W.M.D.s in Iraq. I mean
I had to give
those who supported me
reason to be there.
I listened to the allies I had
forged in my own head. They
convinced me of the fact. There
was something in you?
Worth fighting for.
Packed on a precipice.
Perhaps I listened to the crowd
too much; Reality, there was no crowd.
The allies always say what I imagine
projected on the screen I call eyes
The Weapon of Mass Destruction
is synonymous with the love
that I so desperately wanted to find
in the echoes of you.
To give my members
my limbs...a reason
to be outstretched
like they are.
A rally...a search for ghosts.
But I am no Ghost buster
at the end of the day. There
was no Indian in the Cupboard. Just
a cowboy and a manifest destiny
for self destruction or maybe
I looked in you for something
You told me upfront you didn't have.
I wore out my welcome after
banishing your demon.
Hung your dictator.
Ripped a new one in you. Manipulated
when you wouldn't love; my gloves
are bloody black. My intentions
are blurred. Remove my coverings
I'll blame it on intelligence
I received falsely.
Maybe I should have carried the "one"
or dotted that lone "i"
or crossed my "t"
I've been crossing you too long.
For so long I've desired
the gold beneath your desert.
Created my own mirage and called it
by your name.
I didn't plan correctly. Your sands
jammed my machinery.
gave myself no timetable
to get out if I couldn't subdue
Your resistance too numerous or perhaps
didn't commit as much as I told
My members...my limbs, outstretched
for too long the danger of being
an emotional amputee grows
with each battle
I ought not be here.
Came to you with visions; now
my dreams are bloody black. I imagine
Coming home and finally
laying into a hug from my mother
with no way to hold her back.
My arms, my limbs; I mean, my members
were lost next to the mirage
in the moments of the ambush
at the beginning of the day
You told me you couldn't commit to me.
Over zealous as I often am. I compensated
Over committing to you.
I will make you love me
or at least write it like I believe it.
Rehearse my words until I can
convince others when I say it.
Tainted love. I am
prostrate. Facing East
Lapping up spilled oil
from the depths of the gulf of me
Remorse tastes like I knew better.
You knew better. We all knew better.
We always seem to know better.
We never seem to do better.
We promise to do better
with our first love, second wife
But forget when our Smart bombs fail
And the strife replays