Hadn't you moved strategically?
Do you think I do not have access,
to your clumsily calculated and drunken spites?
Innocent as you preface,
Only in you is which I have had to retract.
In fact,
You have a gift, for slanting so, the face of deceit, cloaked even more by a heart sown in gold,
yet your organs themselves,
Tarred up...
In disdain.
No, not only would you prefer I do not know the face you have birthed
In Venomous alters,
But you have acted to manipulate and
and strategically cover your tracks.
My own mother,
A ruiner of my reputation;
and in you, found out,
To be no more,
Than that which she is.
While many things,
Breech your tongue...
How any of them are true,
What could I know of that?
Betrayals hatched,
and in I,
wouldn't an equal then be birthed?
A true mirror...
Cyclically bound;
Cyclically rot.
Cyclically told.
And not only would you rather I forget;
You'd rather,
I do not know.
No comments:
Post a Comment