My very self is distilled in this murky, petty fall. I don't answer to disregard, I don't recognize indifference. I act back at my best. I used to live at the surface of my existence, now I dwell in the depths. I am not far from indulging in all of my self righteous impulses, as they come all too frequently. I am only a membrane from breaking all that I have left. They can eat around a tart, of lemon sort, but of the center, dissuaded. For the city gate only guards the heart of the city, and all amongst it lie prone to society. Is it to be advertised thus? A waning front, oust it fades. Does he care not of sobriety? Of it, the faults of a deteriorating frailty... I must leave myself, abased in constant continuum. To be the best at something you were supposed to be, or to be the worst at something no one wanted you to be?... To raise oneself, you must not let others predict you, or they will be standing on your side of the scale. Knowledge is too absolute. Just the way they have you believe. I feast on my thoughts, my words.. The things I have only exist in my imagination as I write my soul on this screen.

I hate this.
I hate us.
I hate what I have to say to stay with you.

I hate what I have to conceal.
I hate what I have to act out.
I hate the person I've become.

I hate what you make be want to be.
I hate what you've made me.
I hate lying to myself and the world.

I hate the days.
I hate the nights.
I hate thinking I will never change.

I hate giving in.
I hate holding back.
I never want to tell you the truth.

Do I mean none of it, only to stay alive? I glide around the expectations placed upon me, I sneak around the only excitement I find worth living for. I only remain technical for the brutal honesty I emit. That day in the woods; that plaguing kiss... You tricked me into much more than that. Late that night, we mimicked a love, but I would never give in. Little do you know, for not even I know. The memories of us escape me, as if they were never there. We have cheated love, only to float... We have cheated society, and wander around without a care. Are we even us, if not recognized by more than ourselves? A rock falls off a cliff, but if no one observed this, did it really even happen?

For the first time in a long time I wasn't repulsed by the situation I was dealt. Expectations can ruin fun... As I don't take well to my soul, I am still amongst the desires of my contentment. There is a surprising relief with you, that I cannot explain. I wish none of it to be furthered, but only reserved in its state. How can I be so satisfied with this anti-progressive establishment? It confuses me, the peace I feel in the silence, the nonchalant bearing. How must something so wonderful be inherently bad and rebellious? The surrounding complications come to no avail within this ignorance. But how volatile is my state of mind? Am I never to depress myself in a matter further had it already wept upon me? Only by the census, terminated long before my reasoning. I was contented by my lonely countenance, had it ever to coincide with myself? But, I am forever astonished by my placings in this world. Why am I of this existence, and not another? How do souls come into existence if not by God? Questions for the skeptic, to be of another confusion. If ever an answer for every question, questions would lose their interest. If but all relativity diminished, would not life then lose it's lingering hold. Grey; the color of a thought. If an answer, never a thought.

And how may I escape that of which I have placed upon myself. In the secret follies admired unjustly by my soul, the caving of my spirit had become known. He is but something only the temporary would happenstance to wish upon. Never at enduring, only at dying, within the slow, subtle, breach of society's echoes. I am laced about my winding thoughts, they dread abut the weary darkness. To a front I play the fool, to live in the life I thought was needed. Never again, will I allow this weakness upon me. I shall not, and will not fear, but only with non-conditional, mandatory rulings placed within my heart. She crosses you plainly, yet you enlist about a warmth of light. She churns in the mixing of the others perspective, and you drool about how one can be so accustomed to conformity. You say you wish upon the unknown wench, the one of the night. The one that calls to the sea, and places her soul in the wind. I, but a feather to the bay at oceans current. Never amongst the thoughts, not even the shadowed ones. "Life would be no more than a succession of days. I wished it to be brief, for the secret follies of passion had become alien to me."-The Princess of Montpensier

Why what peace you must have. A lovely tourniquet follows you around like a plague. It invites its victims with a wave of apathetic endearment... Later to be crushed under the air they cannot breathe, because they are not of your kind. Can no one love you? Are you such a kind that waves the sight of containment, at its loss, never at its gain. Never understanding... Only fearing. At a time, you will be haunted, the lonely air will freeze at the sight of you. The trees will wither with your face, the sky will darken as the fog brazes the wind it travels. The sun will find you, but die soon after. Instead the moon will have you at your soul, but even keep its distance. For never will you have it. Never will you see it, gasping, emotions running deficient. You do not allow anything justified, you only desire wavering trifles. You wish upon the forest, the trees that are dying, the trees that search in sake of societal gain. The trees that give up on themselves to follow an importance. The trees that hate themselves, and convince themselves otherwise. I love you, but even that has its faults.

Wherence, I find my stature diluted upon. To understand is to forget all of ones naturals state, into the unknown. Does fate envelop love? Does love overtake all of its predecessors? In alacrity, my mind seethes upon my thoughts unto its honing instincts. If it were, the infatuation claims a faulty crutch, leer me, a fortuitous substitute. My sentiments relapse within these yearnings, as I shout to the heavens my elusive nature. Never again, but only this. Thus a prison, thus a market, a sell of endowment, a sell of predetermined prospects, these my parents take refuge abut. We fade amongst the lilies, at bay, neath the kingdom stay. Trust is a fortified argument, nothing to be sham, and a loose lengthened array to favor ancestral dominance. Folly echoes the breaths of my past. For it to never be again, a proof of longevity, to natures charm, and societies wit. Only but a change, a swivel I must take.