As I consumed by infinite numbers,
conservative prefaces,
artificial growths,
meaningful labels;
dreadful sins will always be as they are
forever stretching out The Love and a pity
become a perpetual giant concrete wall in between
don’t them all owe me a bottle of heady wine nor just a thank
o, o, o, please,
my heart is already ******!
poured up by their tang of lies
how can I ask for help in a myriad of plastic hearts?