dead man walking

Because I am precious, and you are not.  You thought you could turn it on, then switch it off.  Burn cold one day the next burn up hot.  Tell me you love me one minute, the next I can rot.  A smile in a second, and in a breath, you are cross.  Giggling carefree and suddenly you stop.  Tasting lip gloss, a shallow burial in moss.  No flowers at my grave, just a shot in the dark.  Erasing months like it was time that forgot.  You should have known it was complicated from day dot.  Inhibitions complete an opposite paradox.  I was a butterfly and you were my moth.  Thought we were the same then we open Pandora’s box.  Where is the harm in outsmarting a fox?  You wanted it psychic, licked down and locked.  I couldn’t ever be sure because I just didn’t know you enough.  Neither wanting to be sidekick, both wanting the lot.  Losing the plot.  Lone wolf nibbling at Little Red’s not so goldy locks.  And looking back, every thought was exactly the same as your stuff.  Trust is difficult for a pebble turned rock.  Solid obstacle, obstinate, stubborn hero mocks.  You should have taken more care, paid attention, told me your intentions, given me mentions in your mansion instead of pretending nonchalance spacing expansion.  Wax crayons, hand in hand, melting pot, milk chocolate.  It was never a little, it was always a lot.  Driving a car simulating simultaneous tick-tocks, roads and pavements, straight lines criss-crossed.  Torque too much, talking clocks, soothing sore spots.  What does it matter?  Beats, bars, music, rhymes, life, earphones in a headlock, eyes stare into deadlock, wielding machetes and five guns cock.  Wondering if I should have ripped the plaster off.  Signed your cast.  I drift ever further away and you think I’m scurge on a sour plate.  Once I was your quench to slake, for only your sake, stars written in the wind, you blew me away, a freed slave, mixed up, slim shady.  Please stand up.  Wrapped in your arms, trying your charms.  Dance in a river lake, kiss me quick on a river bridge.  Wasn’t sure of the outcome, the game and your state of play.  You called it love, I called it stage.  Stay.  Slayed my way, cold in your sleigh, crave my wake, enveloped in mistake.  Emergency hand brake.  Perception sticky operated in splattered rage.  Product of age, it’s all about numbers today.  You didn’t have to make it this way.  Clay of the same name.  Rattlesnake shake, rattle my cage, rolling with stake to blame, anything but beige, it’s taking an age this game, writing this page, engage needled stitches on triage. Hurry up.  Smoking and baking it, closing up knots and cruel fates.  Cracks begin to show, memories help me stay insane when I aim, and in any other android frame, it’s just another day.

ink is free, so...

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