Oakleigh

You ask if I'll cope, if you could only help, to take us back home, why make me suffer, away from your Lens, don't need your buffer, stay out of my zone, you might mean well, but I’m better alone, then there's your mother, to keep in her shell, if not her then another, I’ll roll with the blow, sit on stools of leather, my skin tanned from snow, cocktails and scents, a life untethered, by you or your friends, will laugh at the rope, you dangle bereft, if that's all your hope, forget about heaven.