Firstly, you’re fucking right I’m fierce.

You think you know, but you have no idea.

One day you won’t speak to me tomorrow.
That should be today, or yesterday or
The day before that, or even, my bad, the day before that…

But you have made me too weak.

When that day comes, depends on
When my fierce takes over my feeble
And all these little words will cease.

I fear that,
from the aching confusion
the breaking illusions,
the slow reveal
and the pain I feel,
the fuming
the feuding
and the fluent tears
that fall fast;

each one washing away delusion,

that that day will soon come.

See,

I let you melt me.

I trusted you

With all the liquid me.

With me, with my body,

My mind, my being,

I was completely free.

And all the melted me

filled you up.

For a while, I was worthy

Til you quit being thirsty.