You set apart your body,
you move your wings away,
never even turning back.

Your stalwart step,
signs that you were never—
ever felt aspired nor sincere,
you have never felt them.

Have you ever felt something?
For me? Feel at least, align.

It has always been me,
who cherish whilst I know,
know what is precise,
that the feeling of thee is;
The opposite of mine.

Hence, me, myself,
could not ever blame,
nor my feelings or thee.

This dependence of mine,
is built of sincere and melancholy.
That latch until death do part.