The incongruity of taint
Treading, I am forlorn
The wantonness for it is only me

It is true
Abhoration is my displeasure.

It is me
Who you know yet comprehend far less
Of a one. Of a person
Of a me.

Is it not this displeased
It is not the distrust
Too forward for mistrust
But blatant wanting
Depravation
The tongue of a silver tongued
Is not silver.

It is not the apparent
That has been chosen
Nor the walk of ethereality placing her hands on heads to make them apparent
It is only me

It is only me

It is only me.