And it will waste away, and they will all go back to resume their corresponding programming, and dig themselves in in their favorite distractions. This deeply buried corruption they 'grieve' over, no where near from being exhumed—just as the morticians have devised. Sad isn't it? But it always has been.

Which to sever, which to reinforce?
The ones that tell what we want to hear,
Or the ones that tell what we need to hear?
Those who give us fabricated mirth,
Or those who provide us genuine relief?
Shall we keep our hands in shallow honey pots,
And our ears listening to sultry lies?
Or open our eyes to those who can scrape it's scales, and embellish us with the truth?
Which bridge to cross, and which to burn?

Do not push around the meek
For Peace can wage wars
Dare not pull it's strings
For Calmness can inflict storms
Stir not it's unruffled clouds
For Serenity knows conflict

I want to sleep on the surface tension of your perilous love. Willingly submitting my entire being on a paper-thin layer, separating me from your overwhelming abyss. Trustingly allowing my heart, as it falls off my chest, to be consumed by your drowning affection.

You really had to put yourself in a desperate situation? Like hoping an ant to carry the weight of the world, you're long mashed to absurdity before you realize what kind of mess you got yourself into. Hopelessly wishing everything will fall into place around a flower that has long pollinated another—beating a lifeless carcass. You only desire tranquil conditions, that's good, but you're after it with the wrong other. All this affection, all this pursuit, could have been smothered on someone deserving of you. When will you realize you've poured enough tears from your earthenware, running dry? Stop writing with feathers on rough concrete, your fairy tale has long ended―it's not a happily ever after.

Like a heart roused with passion,
I conduct myself with lustful decorum.
With my shadows shivering in bliss,
I lay my vigorous sinews to your titillating touch.

Craving for your satiating warmth,
Esteemed artist―lingering in my labyrinthine mind,
I long for your company In this hectic week.