It's just a thought

I'm not your sun, but I could be a star or two
And I'm not your ocean, but I could be a river for you

I may not be your dinner, but I could be a snack
And I may not be your suitcase, but I could be your backpack

I'm not your three piece suit, but I could be your tie
And I'm not your hideout, but I could be your alibi

I may not be your garden, but I could be a flower
And I may not be a thunderstorm, but I could be a shower

I'm not your new episode, but I could be a commercial
And I may not be it now, but I could be your girl

With a willingness to grow
I threw myself to the wind
But when I opened the door
I followed myself back in

It's like feeling ill
And knowing that puking will make you feel better
Except you don't know where best to do it
But you do know the process won't be pleasant.

So you sit there feeling ill,
For a day, or a lifetime,
Constantly thinking about maybe puking.

Again? Really?

The
Click
Click
Click
Of my right elbow

And the
Rip
Rip
Rip
Of my left shoulder

And the
Thump
Thump
Of my excitement

Will almost
Always
Always
End in a

Thud.

And it's sort of a bummer that I can't share my extra heartbeats with the now silent lump of flesh that I failed to whisper to life.

Yea, sort of a bummer.