white knight black tie

make me a poem,
lyric of lust
fill it with similes smothered in dust
pour out your metaphors,
fraught with distrust;
dash it with diction. do as you must.

prove with your poem the words that you speak
verbal averrances fluid yet weak–
redolent with honesty?
not so– they reek.
prove with your lyrics the lies that you speak.

If I be broken- “shattered”, you say,
surely your poetry’s the mend of my ways
cement for the chasm I tend to display
heal me, you liar.
prove what you may.

make me a poem,
greatest of lies
fill it with tales of my blackest disguise
unearth my innocence.
Teach it to rise.
Do that-I’ll credit you,
and cease to surmise.

and all the while muffle the din of your cries
under the sheen of my wicked sunrise
smile while you scream as you let me inside

and so break the trail of your reckless crusade
to spring free the prisoners others have made

You need to be taught: not everyone needs help
at least, no one as much as you do yourself


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