never there

She Shrouds her face,
to the love he wastes.

He fell at haste
His love, she cannot taste

blood on your hands

I would never wear my pain
like an unwashed stain

Your hands are dirty
mine are clean

Yet its my fingureprints
that are easy to see.

Its Not Me, Its You.

So colourful and appealing
like a bowl of plastic fruits.
But your also hard and fake
Not very easy to break.

Using Manipulation
A strong indication
Of a flippant fascination
So this is the end of my fixation.

Long time blue,
Should have made more of a point,
That its not me its you

A Fake Fondness

Derived from your deliquent and dishevelled no shame,
our problematic past continues to play the game.
A fake fondness forthcoming,
a forceful urge and flippant tongue

plastic people

Bonding through association.
Moving in curves not angles.

Connecting...

But Plastic words
lead to perspex scentences
and progression in our connection collapses.

So...your back again.
Whats your story?

An exhalation of annoyance
as i apprehesivley wait for answers

But i would never dare.

Perplexed and Paralysed by you
unpredictable portrayal

Lost

She followed the maze around his MIND.
She thought it would take her on the journey to his HEART.

But she got lost along the way

Cathartic

Side views and alternative angles,
Ambiguous hopes a general idea dangles.
Promiscuousness feels an empty space
A sickening piece of lost taste.
Dynamic thoughts project me the surreal
and Cathartic practise helps me to deal

Still distracted.

My thoughts end thinking of you,
These things about me i conceal.