Emotions concocted from nothing, plague daily favours and amongst it all he manages to plough and power his way through the field, getting bored of the sidelines my lips can’t much longer keep from being sealed, why shall I hunt him down I’m meant to be past that stage of the game, you know where I’m at so I leave the GPS to your claim, loving or hating, what’s the difference all of it’s the same, I’m not fearing your not returning because which ever way it’s arranged, I would think that God already had the game-plan pre-ordained.
Shock tactics from a blacksmith of blurred convict words, are you paying attention because I’m not deferring the slurred for the curred. High drama? Please – make it wait for later for once can’t you see, I want this, you should let this, be all about me, even the Prince had the right kinda idea in the Princess and the Pea, Godforsaking all the others for the truest belief, drowning kittens, wasting tears over callous heinous fiends, playing bulldog and high catch with hopscotch frogs and mirrored queens, take your truancy and shove it where the sun doesn’t sheen.
Must have been a militant mutant in a previous life, these X-men strive to keep cutting me, halving my heart with private lives, pretending like they’re all wanting for that heaven piece of strife, but if you read the pre-amble in the prenuptial he’s already plotting murder murder murder to see a mocking bird run free, on the outside at the outset everything’s schweet, and then all of a sudden Pinocchio tries to knock me over not once, but multiplied by three.
Three. God knows me. Can you even believe the boy prescribed iman. Told me to wear hijab and then backstabbed me in the midst of Ramadhan. Unforgiven. Raa. This has turned into something I didn’t mean for it to be, he delivers me latte on ice double you tea eff what the where the how the ick what does it even mean, my serenading hero promised me serene lambada dreams and retirement on a capital hedge fund retreating on yachts and jetskis, but it would seem he morphed back into a toad with narcolepsy only to cause embarrassing scenes on the road, concerted efforts to reduce any kind of meets avoiding potentially emotionally weak accidental greets in the street, and the entire thing tastes like bitter sweet deceit.