Old Territory

We took the train  
to taste the same wines and fruits and scars and stars. Waste of time as  
you send me home without you. I can't stand the constant gravitational pull. It makes  
me want to rip out your hair  
 
and have an affair with an old lover. I don't know  
I'm ashamed of the frame of mind I'm in  
but I want to run. You make me want to run. How can one  
love? Show me the way out.  
 
Tomorrow perhaps you'll reassure me but the likelihood  
looks so unsure. You're walking on paved gold  
and you make me crawl, sometimes. Other days I'm  
six feet tall, it's better off like this. Keeps  
 
me on my toes - and you on yours. I suppose  
I get tired of the games when I know you're happy at home just  
to run and make me have to start again. You make me waste my   
time so I can spend some of it with you before  
 
the stress starts ripping out my hair. Catching  
the floors and doors with fumbling feet and tepid tears. I'm prepared for your silly games. I  
suppose I understand that sadness is the affection  
you've become accustom to. I wish I felt more at home on my own and this wasn't old territory.