I hear sweet nothings, how non substantial
Special thoughts swirl and fester within thy mind
Blended with morbid prospects, what a hindrance
My tolerance to hearing my own heart palpitating is lacking
Passing by, time extending to what feels like eternity
Is it insanity? Why do I feel necessity, all for thine composure?
That closure thou oh so wishes for, does not exist
Dismissed dry tears and a closed mouth
Exposed mire that I continue to hinder
How useless, the itch still remains
Those arbitrary pains unrelenting
Weeping as I ponder about thy singularities
Appetency, imaginably lacking the capacity to resist demise after all.

 Prickly thorns and a coffin full of roses
Who mourns in response to loneliness
Forgiveness is but divine
The fine outline is disconcerted into guilt
His will overwhelmed the culpability
And her mentality formed into empty solace
Fragrant memories from thy mind collapsed
She relapsed, and wreathes in sorrowful apathy
Pretty monotonous words eat her whole
Thy role is casted by a pretense
Hence for her, nothing is but what is not.