We
paw each other, highly dramatized, to wrestle words.
We
need for truth, a beautiful nightmare, somewhat
evasive.
“Don’t lie to me, and give heart, play not the
meme.”
We grapple pain, to unwrap soul, to plead an
outcome.
We look to eyes, to judge for right, deceived
by
gestures. “Oh I couldn’t, to ever live, a healthy mind;
and
oh I wouldn’t, to ever give, and slither deathly.”
We
temper for love, a crooked passion, to nestle for
love.
How to trust, and never catch, and feeling queasy?
We
wrestle words, a haunted house, a deep deceit; and
what
for nature, a troubled seed, and pathological? I
often
hear—a tale of lies, to execute grace; and
something
feels, a pail of tears, and dearly pantomimes.
We
speak it boldly, to search for eyes, reading body
voices.
They utter clues, if only false, to hear for picture
perfect;
thus to know, a mere myth, a late night movie.
I
often see—a touch of gone, an Emmy won; and rare to
know,
to soon forgive, and live detached.
