My words form a humble abode
only if the words would form when prose
words crave to expand when exposed
I never grant them the ability to unload

    They complex to lyrical nonsense
    Ravage my identity towards confidence
    knows nothing about prudence
    they insist upon clairvoyance

Words manipulate to suffice
although I contort them to be precise
they matriculate to my vice
We both only want to be concise