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Rearview
Nonsensical and dreaming,
I consider you dear friends.
A misconception brewing between
your perceptions and my reality.
Perhaps 'angel' can't describe me,
but 'chaos' is an injustice to my person,
and my dignity is shattered
with every verbal scar placed on my being.
Your maturity only extends
as far as your reach
and perhaps I was incorrect
in seeing something beautiful
in your temple.
How is it that I'm the harlot
when you can't tell your Romeo
after fucking Mercutio without a care
or consideration for your dear lover's devotion?
