Your soul is corrosive like acid. I can see it as it burns around the edges of your eyes, while they wander across the tips of tails from smoke trails telling compelling lost tales of torn sails and the botched sales of notched rails. But not bales of hay because, hey, who pays my bail anyway? When the rain hits, memories fade like a fragrance but I'm afraid your scent has stayed like a line from Hemingway. I never get to play on the home run hitting team it’s teeming with talent but even more talons. The claws in my paws put a pause in the clause.  The only time you take a breath from your speech is to kiss me, and even though it’s always on the lips I can never believe a single word you speak. Each sentence makes sense but my 2 cents makes none. I feel like I'm flying when in reality I'm just dust in the wind. Ash from my volcano caught in your tornado wishing I could say no. No voice inside the vortex besides the one that whispers you’re next. Escape is a poor jest. You can try to defy or deny but no one will find your hubris humorous. Though the flames are luminous they are not nearly numerous enough. So, I was forced to meddle with my mettle on a metal like melody until each element eloquently fell from me. Are you telling me you’d rather keep reveling in this felony?