. . . more of that stuff they call love - the thing they say is free . . . am i supposed to ask for it still?
perhaps i'm not ready yet to offer up my pride as tender - i'd rather have you up on the auction block, going for pennies and a hayride . . .
nothing sweet to be found in this bitter, nothing sweet to be sought either - the sheer indulgence in the emotions i've allowed myself to fold into . . . to succumb
scum
minus the 's' steers clear of me nonetheless
. . .
what a contraption to be enveloped in the conviction of righteousness . . . pure tomfoolery, fool-hardily expressed and indulged . . .
throw the goddamn baby out with the bathwater already.
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