Explain to me, confidante, the manner in which you became my paragon.
So I will be able to discern my inherent sybarite.
When did you claim sovereignty over my vice?
Let's call it a day with your ludicrous dogma.
I refuse to be your "damsel in distress", confidante.
Unconditional surrender is not a game I play.
I wish that rendezvous with you wasn't so bitter,
Alas, is it a coup d'etat that you desire?
Doctrines, confidante, are ad nauseam at times.
They become crucibles, asphyxiating one's joy.
No, I cannot metamorphose into subsurvience.
I beseech you, broaden your narrow perpective.
Skepticity is my new saviour.
