There was something in the envelope she passed him
that weighed more to him than paper and some ink.
It had the hint of something darker and the hint of something sweet,
and a little extra glue right on the tip.
There was something in the pain that shot right through him
as he climbed up to the place he called his home.
They say every man's house should be his palace,
but his castle stank of cat shit and alone.
So he opened it and found a faded picture
of a girl he's never met, but somehow seen.
Like a memory of a dream from early childhood;
like a virgin's idea of release.
She said "I can bend my arms until they're backwards,
but you can't bend your will to take in mine.
And I could hold my breath until next Wednesday
and still be doing fine."
He was sad in ways that he couldn't tell her.
Though she could make his sadness all her own.
He couldn't see the use in spreading sadness.
So he took his dark depression and went home.
She saw things in him that he never bargained.
But it wasn't enough to save either one of them.
Because she took all that sadness one step further
and left him all alone to face the end.