Don't.

Seven out.

Line away.

Be the "don't".

That's the thing with pedestals,

It isn't the dizzying height that's the problem,

It's the inevitable fall from grace.

Tried so hard to hang your hat

Somewhere lofty

Pointed hard to something you could be proud of

As if that was the thing that would bring all the pieces together

All I ever was was a dainty ballerina in a box

A picture in a locket

A dream on a bookcase

A story you might write about someday.

Not a real thing with hopes and cracks and mistakes.

Held eachother up so far, we come to drowning in the fall.

I found a way to understand anyway, once.

I found some space to breathe and love and keep from giving up on the idea

In a way I really needed.

That maybe I wasn't just a way to make up for everything that had ever been wrong, 

That I wasn't just a pretty shiny thing that stood up where the world had failed you

I somehow found some forgiveness and real trust for you

Could you find the same for me?

Or have I bet the field, again?

Never quite pays off.

Two and twelve just too hard to roll-

Too much to ask for.

Hope for.

Too far gone. 

And so it goes- seven out, line away.

Pay the don't.