My failure to express love has once again set my soul apart from its iron shell.
Cold walls surround a bitter logic,
and tears wash away the rain.
"Defiling is a scene so unoriginal in nature that it rapes away any notion,
any feeling I've ever had to live in any sense of normality."
Quietly I form new forms of death and more prevalent realizations:

Lust is silent as it climbs into bed,
and idolatry makes the weak untenable, and useless to anyone -

My failure to express emotions beyond that of good
                                                                  and fine,
have taken tolls and refined my theatrical performances.
While I'm still gasping for breath,
and trying to grasp a leverage so far gone, that it is out of sight.

I'm still juggling the admiration and jealousy that has plagued my memory.
I'm still outlasting my failure to express love,
beyond my limitations.

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