not when it concerns yours.
Whatever glints of your mind,
I dare not deduce them as glimpses.
One's inner-workings is what it is,
inner-workings.
Forgive me when you ask
"What do you think?" and I,
answer with the lowering of my gaze.
I will not subject myself to you.
It's cruel when you prey on me,
walk through me, as if a maze.
You must know when you say "Tell me more"
it whips my pride but I suppose you do know
since my musings to you, I cannot hide.
It is unfortunate that I am loyal
to you, as if you're royalty.
Tis my enemy, my frailty.
Dear friend, say no more
Your words are poison to me.
I am but an addict being played
by your endlessly attractive axioms.
I am but a starved romantic
who thrives on your virgin tragedy.
_________________________________________________________________
Note: I must say I don't think the last stanza presents my wishes well. I'll fix it later, somehow.
Always, unrelated images of my silliness is caught in the dragnet of musings caused by beauties decidedly separate. Yes, how cryptic I am but then again how shall I survive if all is transparent and laid to see so completely and utterly? As if all that isn't already a stick I'm bending to it's utmost limits. To the very limits my capabilities allow me at least.
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