Yield.

Hello, you, not you, why don't you encourage me?

Instead, you detest, unfailingly protest,

allowing me to succumb wearily.

But I'll address myself this dais,

a recreation that won't veneer;

lest it break the bone to design,

unless that sooner interfere.

So why don't you bring along prudence?

Sagacity might do you some good,

I'll stifle the ache, you echo a retort,

and sing the songs that I would.

That guilt is you blotch on self confidence,

discoloration wrapped in deep lament,

a sip to slip, and the song has changed,

while we regret our haplessness.

Egos shall then strive 'neath, delicate?

contours swerving across the vapid floor;

you adore, easily amid my weakness

to charily cave in, craving an encore.