change encounters fall short,
our coincidence no longer foats,
convictions readily ignored.
you're like a postcard in how the scenery shapes your sentiment
and i am right to question your interest
and intent for overnight scrutiny,
that kept me in bed.
you're a comedy of errors.
now i won't shake your hand.
another hallmark greeting.
sodomized by disguise.
pride lies behind closed doors,
promises fucked beyond recognition.
i taped over all your mix tapes bearing the wounds of confessions.
time too plan your next attack,
like dying words,
this is my defense...
i would rather be despised than praised and trivialized.