a melancholy mutiny

Your split personality,
is taking the soul from out of me,
dissecting my spirit,
splitting my anatomy,
neglecting my nurture,
as you’re still trying to get at me.

Spitting loving at a height,
of six sensual capacities,
kissing at rancid,
basic one-dimensional tenacities,
and then, you’re audacious enough,
to be overly defensive.

I thought you were gracious,
yet you disrespect us massively,
disregarding us,
like we’re an invisible calamity,
and then, when we’re close in arms,
you’re like nothing can harm me.

Can you make up your mind,
are we or aren’t we?
A continual rate of shall we or shan’t we,
do we make it happen,
or fate the eventuality?

I thought.

A scrutinized soul which runs deeper than Socrates,
a heart with idiosyncratic values and maladies,
your repertoire plays multitudinal melodies,
selective institutional malicious validities.

And you expect me to accept,
your pernicious,
chronological mythology,
fly by night synergies with unremorseful,
and uninvolved propensities,
your velocity,
laughing out loud,
at all your attention-getting density.

Ignorant of my allergies,
you devour my sensitivities,
and if you are my destiny,
I’d rather lose you than lock it,
because I’m not living my life,
in your subcutaneous toxic.

ink is free, so...

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