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[ Sincerely, ]
Why take the time- to coddle these words,
divided with sacrasm, into fifths, into thirds.
Dripping like paint, left to some kind of mark,
smiles, o'wiles, appear as frigid as dark.
Weeping loom, how you pined for my hand, now
and again, twenty two times- I loosened the band.
Arbitrary, contrary to what would we will, the
secret that beckons, where should we until-
This reply likely, night or day find thou not,
though by this out right- be not thou disraught.
For all that I hoped, and all that I did,
little as I could, along had we sped.
Down the path, and all the way out the end,
ended up so twisted, as far as could bend.
Just look at me, none could be ever so bad,
convince the apparition, of a tea sipping lad.
Here is the tragedy,
formality in soul,
played all, played in full,
no fold, no retreat,
dancing in a street.
Told me this, told me that,
upon the door, rat-tatat-tat.......
a raven there,
yes, a feeling,
the weight of a STaRe.
Not one of you told, not one of you care.
Why write, I-.. this, explain I not dare.
As we stroll to the side, for a story not told,
bring with you a mind, untattered, un-sold,
for who could forget, the hook we call gold,
changing, like 'this,' for worse or as bold.
There was one thing, if ever I wanted;
chased many a times, yet still I am haunted.
Thoughts I drag with me, scars, this ol'bag, V
nothing so special, except for the Tag- 2
An insignia once forgotten, though often myopic, E
held something of meaning, uniting a topic.
Twisting, turning, the pain that is felt,
liken to whispers'tween cards, ones that I dealt.
As if they not know, but mean that they did,
is this some phallacy, leaving me scincid?
Was it, was it, this apple they chose,
for me, no, never- I would not suppose..
Back through the blinds, where most give me looks,
eyes were more keen, they read me like a books.
Spoke of good moments, joys of here,
of all that I wanted, became almost so clear..
Even words such as they, sincere as now could be.
Where they go now, well, let us just see...?
Think long and hard, what you think you may know,
for what I seek, cast by always, a lonely Shadow.
With this should I be so comforted,
so loved, the arms you would hope have
all but been shoved-
where they might go
with variables as they toss and they writhe-
leaving me nothing, but trying to breathe..
I ask her for help, and all that I fear,
is that simply, she cackles, only so near.
As the walls begin, to crackle- and burst,
into motion, bleeding in some insatiable thirst;
find myself thinking, only unto myself,
what was she seeking, thenes'oma chevonabzki-lf..
suppose most of you ain'heard of an a-
Author: STaRe (1/16)