Reality

She slips and she slips and 
she slips again.
She slips up the stairway,
down the elevator,
she brings the keys with her, because
she knows where they will
release her.

But she isn't singing love songs
anymore.

She is waiting for you, you know.
She waits with the patience of a
hungry child.
She knows where those keys
are going, she knows
how to turn them.
But the lock is in an
ocean with a name no one
can remember, a name someone
forgot to give.
Without a name an ocean is
nothing more than an endless pool 
staring up at the sky.
Nothing more than water we cannot
even drink.

She is not singing love songs
anymore.
You should hear her, you know,
you should hear her silence your      
half of her whole. 
This is not her world--
still starving inside for you,
she waits only to slip on home.