If I'm not holding your hand
then you refuse to walk with me.

I wish that character flaw of yours
would find a porch to die beneath.

I wouldn't mind smelling the rot
for weeks before finding it.

Naysayers crowded vying for attention
Left of the suave markets
Masquerading discontentment
Never say forever
The illusionist makes her entrance
Amongst the many naysayers
Smiling harsh radiance
Burning against the pavement.
Flying silently misty
Crawling
Sobbing
But whose place requests the attendance for the hatesayers
Gateweighters laugh blindly in their drunken spoils
While the sayers drown in their own personal torment