on paper

he was a thin piece of paper
he wanted to take care of me
but he was burning
every side every angle, burning
cigarettes, joints, crack pipes
lit so much he could have been a lighter
floating in his toxic smoke he was always
looking for a high
or a higher, or the highest
he rose above the stratosphere
it was a long way down

I was a skyscraper, concrete, glass
looking for shelter, protection
and this
dirty, wrinkled sheet of lined paper
wrapped itself around me for a moment
and I so wanted to believe
I could lean on him because I felt his words
and I loved him, but I failed to realize
though he was full of promises
and sweet dreams, and platitudes
he was only as strong
as the paper on which he was written.