Ash-Tone

Shunning you into stunning oblivion, you are besieging me for attention, tell me I’m a ten he says, oh Ken, the disappointing runes, aired and heard out, tea’d and scone’d out, Heathcliffe on a rampage. Ruined.

How about a turn about the room nah, let’s take the heard out, and flock to floral hide outs. You’re fine, tuning into an elusive moon, trying to be lunar, cracked coffee cups, cuffed and sipped, thought you had me at your whim, and whipped.

You want to be midnight mass, everlasting, Gotham chambers with less of the attachment. It’s occurring, the blinking of spirit, the splitting of self, the fissure of atoms, Hercules meta, psshh, elf on the shelf. Your love is hurried, buried, beneath mixed tape sepulchres, dead candles, catacombs and cultures.

It was a mistake, of course it was, for my sake or your sake, does the precursor even matter, Sheikh? Cursed with fear and flippant dichotomies, you’re impeaching moi, like I’m the one who has the rotten inside of me, when it was you, all along the live long day, wielding deep-seated conceited malignancies, against my whimsical come what may.

Bruh.