Do not mistake my compassion for a lack of intent. If I am to be judged. The derailed shall not be seated. The road behind is thick with widows. Bent and wrapped in razor trails, they speak in barbed tongues of only a frauds existence. I know that face and the assumption is insulting, a broken grin, detailing only bare skin and the smooth recollection of absolutely nothing.

 All teeth and mantle, you are eager and muzzled, I am not another binding for the arrest of forgery affection. You must understand that love is not simply another word for perpetual attention. This is further proof that all that you ‘need’ lies in whoever looks as they pass you in the street.  

But the fault is mine, so I beg your pardon please.

This is not a parable, open your eyes. My being here was never essential, as they say, “anyone will do tonight”. So one more time for good measure, Self-centred, you are the dreary life that drives good dogs to stray. Every futile line… Recycled, insulting and betrayed, if I may, these borrowed sentences are lacking and from their putrid hole they have too far strayed. But then again, there is also the nagging sensation that I may have already gone too far. Don’t make me repeat this. The mad fool is happier when he is restless, so consider this the threat of the straightjacket.