I believe our sphere will grind
Macerated down to expose its rind
‍
The perpetrator is listlessly nefarious
Yet clueless that the platform is precarious

What should you do?
Remind them that
“I shouldn’t meld with you”?

Nay

I believe this light will lose its shine
Separated remorse and no intertwine
‍
The lover is rightfully gone
But yearning for a predisposed dawn

How do you tell them?

Advise them that “We classify our frayed hem”?

Pray.

Nevertheless
What is free from my control
Cannot be self-marketed as tasks to quell

Alternatively
I’d rather not stray from mania

I can sabotage and blemish to solve you
Without neuropathy

If bestowed access

Alright, the spectacle’s eroding
My creeds have changed
‍
I believe yours have tightened

It’s facile to sense your fright

You swivel
Dominating suppression

Eventually
There is a question
Addressed from you to me

Your projection asks

“Why don’t you worry?”

Well,

Above all sparks of belief
We know the subliminal is immutable

And “I think we should talk.”