Three bars too slow, precipitation
frames slide off the shelf
moving alone in anticipation
shadow of her former self.
She puts on her slippers
wary of the spread silkworms,
taken aback in volume
feet dressed in germs.
The dub has rubbed her mind
pulsated, she believes it'll suffice
swooped by the monotone
memory dissolved in chalice.
She seems so out of reach
a liberal figure of speech,
her words are hard to miss
aegis of a bad first kiss.
Clothes she didn't believe in
people, she never cared
subject to minuscule greed
my atrophied need.
Nobody quite knows how to say,
posters spell a different speak
what she said I didnt much get
if it isn't her, it must be me.
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