Styrofoam around my heart; a cardboard box around it, To pack away memories of love. Crustacean lips, for every after Taste of kissing; once of fishing for the one- that illusive catch Still with the selfish desire to claim someone as my own, alone- A greed like cigarettes staining fingers; crying only to myself But never counting those tears in the broken mirror, of a bathroom
As this hubris of a man, is quite humorous;- truly starved of direction; Yielded in such a dishonest method. A chance of, βshooting your shot,β A posing act of perhaps creating your own weapon to **** yourself Parlour tricks, for the conformality of society- a human preference At this point. These unspoken rules, carefully set down: find someone, Get married, do your purpose to multiply, work diligently to maintain Appearance/experience memories together; as from finding love as One being single, to leave those you loved mournfully single; As only those set apart, ironically get to die together. Oh, how Wonderful would such a pension to love be- but not often given freely.