Affection 'twas but an unattainable luxury towards but one poor, artificial husk of what was once a joyous, incandescent flame.
No matst how 't tried, 'twas all it's efforts naught but left with a chasm yet gaping evermore. This void of feeling 'twas naught more than an illusion, but present nonetheless.
Future attempts to claim what was rightfully it's, to it's own behest, be infatuations of those interested in only the likes of themselves. With every grasp of the reality, a thousand cuts to it's being.
His demeanor 'twas naught but a facade of flamboyant self admiration and boisterous, arrogant pride, twice tempered making layers comparable to the most solid of forged steels.
It kept but a grin on it's face in the clouded vises of infatuation, as they commit acts of bondage with other reprehensible souls. It proceeded even when Earth and all her brothers and sisters were collapsing on it.
But alas, all things physical are destined to collapse, as too this husk of what was a man.
To this day, it vices on to the fallacy that 't too might experience what others take for granted.
Perhaps, maybe it may, that is for the Fates to decide...
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Fallacy Of Affection
PoetryWhat is a need to describe what is as visible as the moon in the clear night sky?
