your lies and twisted truths pile in my throat
stone upon stone, a heavysmooth monument to your madness,
babel choking me as it reaches for open air
while I am chafed down to crawl in unrestrained cruelty.
I am bloodbroiling jealous that you should choose
to assume so much, choose to believe
that though I gave myself away
to try and solve the jigsaw of your words,
that I would still turn against you and illwhisper
seek to sleighthand and illusioncard onlookers
when all this time I sought your benefit
against my own gut-twinging doubt.
you rip my words and throw them to the wind
to show that to you they are so much litter
and somehow you eagerly adopt the impression
that it is I who have failed you
yet we both know that I am the one
backed to the corner.