Run the lines of fixation to the bone curve them into a grin that comforts what you've become. The appeal to steal the needs you must complete. The bed of needles that always beneath.
So bending to those selfish thoughts, your words are a sea of knots, harpies eyes constricting my mind is drifting, in hindsight I lost at living.
This continuous painting of subjugations leaving a mess tied of it's meaning, dripping circumstances pass by with unrequited love scapegoated by your doubt and not your feelings. Exploiting anyway out of healing my promise was never misplaced or stolen you're just a dove that's lost and broken.