I breed where thoughts dry off like ink
The last vessel is as old as the new born whisper
While the legs of time travel but slow,
I lavish in the beauty of verbal insanity
A place where will has no roots
Shaped by the lasting impression of pseudo passion
I blink with yesterdays salts showering my thirsty guts
That I dare to give away my invaluable possessions
An old dusty sheet of paper with dry words of blind affection
Perhaps a recycled mind offered in a thousand dozen roses would speak
Yet I find no home in tasteless wrapped romantic traditions
I bend the law to catch a glimpse of her sanity
That continues to detoxify the identity I have held for moons
She is but the master and I a clown to her pale esteem
Happiness is born from the attention she receives but exhales not.
The sweet narcissistic thought that I am branded but a man gentle
While like a tick every drop of ego blood is sucked dry
How can she not share my bold insanity?
The craft of literal artistry exhibited in scrolls
Locked in archives of my chattered mind,
How can I blame her?
She is sane!
She must die first
To see what i see.
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