Sailing ships, scotch tape and tight ropes.

I visit your foot steps when I don't know which way is right
and which is left. They turn inside-out in the wrong light.
I sit in a chair and put on my waiting room face,
as I slowly begin building with my mistakes
a sailing ship to make my graceful escape.
I dig through my pockets for my scotch tape.
All of a sudden it's a tight rope in between two big cliffs
I'm getting so drunk but I was only taking sips.
Then I'm young again and it's all make believe and play pretend
That's all over now and I'm slipping through your hands.
Then in all my haste all I can grasp is one last gasp
I taste my last words but you can't read
I fall so far that I'm back, I lapse.
I yell as you take a step back to see.
I'm laying in a shallow puddle and you shake me
All I'm capable of is a twitch of unresponse
My lungs are drowning with all your unanswered wants.
My sailing ship comes up my airway canal,
and it begs for my lungs to answer its mass's call.
Just when I really thought I coughed up the final thought
the crows nest is stuck in my left ventricle, we're both caught.
I reach for my scotch tape
and realize I'm barely awake.
My hands are red underneath the freshly fallen snow,
will I last until my last spring so I can thaw?
I cough once to tell you I don't know.
I never had all the answers you saw
written on the inside of my skin,
your finger prints burned me with proof I let you in.
All of a sudden I am the tight rope between two cliffs,
begging you to cross as you purse your lips.
My sailing ship floats below my conscience, filled to the brim.
And you tip toe across then take a step off and fall in.