The Sock-Monkey As Alone

    So here I am, one more failed romantic. Where my proclamations of love scared you. I'm delusional, unhealthy, and sick. Wishing I could blame innocents or youth. Drunk off of feelings I don't understand. I doubt your real, where the flowers bloom. Much like a rose growing out of the sand. I move between my faith and my doom. I wasted a chance at a friendship. Neither was I worthy of or deserve. Writing an epilogue off one sip. The wine was too strong to let me learn that what I need was as simple as truth. You were a light whereas I was obtuse.  

when dreams felt like showers of stars and we beyond ourselves move on ahead. we count the days and try to hide our scars. when what is left is better left unsaid. your to much a angel and I a sin. to corrupt for friendship so I bleed. to share the world with what has begin. to be a poor actor in a good scene. so last of all to share, to dream, to hope. a tenderness that pushes me alone to play with the truth and rely on tropes. you can drag out the past with lies unknown. but only we know what is the truth your friends as fans ready the noose.

Regret of what I am longing to say for truth has come but is not obscene that goddess to whose patience I pray that I will be tolerated on screen I mean not to be strange or weird but instead a friend in who you trust as every message is sent in fear and crippled by a deceitful lust that you may aspire to appointed height and find yourself safe, as you deserve and be guided by your natural light natural anarchy from which I learn pity is grateful to wander as free where freedom is grateful simply to be