Cycling through all the memories I hold,
attempting to craft up a new ending,
I realize I have chapters left untold
to the stinging king–character: a fling.
Ooo, baby! Did you just hear that one ring?
Come on down off your bed-swaying high horse.
Hear my words, feel their essence, let it sting.
Of course, you digress to endorse your “source.”
And no remorse, for my truth you ignore,
or for my emotions you influence.
What does that make me? Lax foyer decor?
Unify like a stagnant confluence.
Once so innocent, you left me in ruins…
a thriving civilization no more.
Merciless and widespread executions,
right before you gently walk out the door
When do I accept something literally
instead of taking it figuratively?
And when will the delusion of you
fade back to the Blue?