Favoured tongues are riddled; vagaries are proud and we run callous through splits. Nothing that you feel must be said has any right to gated lips. There’s a reason we don’t speak a word of the sickness you wish to be fed. Bitter flower, you may fold. Desire wired like rotten teeth, predictably, offering dictates just how sweet, and by stealing thorns with your bare hand you claim to carry weight. But it’s only ever been as much as demanded vows can take.

 And now that vengeance paints a mild arch upon our face… This dress of contentment is the illusion that you create, deserve and should always have expected.

Eluded, we all travel. Age our lonesome carriage. Bewildered, outside this sagged skin movement is thicker. Our heart and its submissive insistence will not make amends with our futile resistance.  We hold up these shields and still they demand to be stricken. Love, the ruined shell cannot hold, or be held and we can’t remember whether it was ever truly another’s possession.

Remorse, I bruise just like you. Dear careless, the inside will never be forgiven for how weightless it has become.  

Fragrant, nothing ever changes. You’re screaming resigned. My intentions evolved. An intimate makes its way through violet flow and roll. If nothing else will suffice, then what good is this cause?  Without us, you’d have never met your ransom and belonged to all but the shortest straw. If I had argued, the end was assured. In turn I said nothing and, spiked by smiles, departure belonged to whom it was always ensured.

I know you don’t believe this, but I can no longer afford a single thing worth retrieving. After all, a compendium is just another list…  Possible faults…  A history of failures, all of them related to breathing. Committed to course, we’ve made our excuses… So now with the tide and from this scene, like the daylight I will be ever retreating.