10:25 am 9/7
12:30 am 9/8

Another sickly yellow testament

I may, if I might say, but what good would it do
I feel it, through and through
and I hate seeing you

pure poetry is fleeting if it ever even existed
and since you, every line has faltered
every false start hears your catcalls of being uninspired
but who are you to deny me my outlet

You're right. you couldn't take what I had to give,
and that was it. I feel your rejection, through and through
I want to see you.

and pure emotion is upsetting if it ever even uplifted
but what we thought couldn't possibly have been
so god forbid I ask for anything in return

every pleading half-imagined try met your unforgiving,
stupid,
skeptical eye
yet now you say I saw right through you
not that you'd think to credit me
you only sought to lower yourself to matyr status

purity is thrilling if it allows you to survive
and since you, every chance at it has passed me by.
every near-liberation sights your words of pain and entreatment
and who am I to let you hold me back

It was never my decision,
though I don't know what good it could possibly do
I'm letting it wash over me,
infect me through and through.
because I want to see you.