Why emotions explode loose
like rushing rivers to detach
and crumble stringings of boundaries
when blazing damages could hatch;
why my wordings seem belittled
by reality's sold depiction,
how shameful was sensibility
upon strangers' crowned discretion;
my uncertainty's so certain,
my rotten corpse, still breathin'
what there has silence either though
but how embarrassed is needin';
how mortified, what worthlessness
I pridefully hold possession,
beneath a something pseudo-science;
to loathe eternal in procession;
maybe too loosened, I believed,
maybe my freedom's freely fed
by tastes no cautious of willed wisdom
where I, my brightness, darkly bled;
maybe compression before confession,
maybe resistance before persistence,
for better secrets be beautified
by no regretting nor repentance;
perhaps, befriended we've become,
my dearest silence kissing mine
arousing pleasure beyond pleasure
from fleeting feathers intertwined;
glad I, crossing winds of ours
in breezy punches under cloak,
cleansing wishes and intentions
only feeding on leisure lones.
