You cannot pass through me,
you are not fluid,
you congeal at the tips of my fingers,
I am aware of your superfluous congenialities,
strafe and wing as you will,
I am not ill,
I see things that others do not,
inklings that noone has ought,
I may not be pure- I may not be chrystal,
but I am the one who holds the pistol,
and if I shoot,
and dare I say,
a sprig a chute,
cannot dismay,
but if I sought an open soul,
or relinquish all control,
I hope to leave a gaping hole,
and bury you alike a vole,
I know you read me,
I know you follow,
but I am not a fool as hollow,
hallow thee- but be still sallow,
never free the cost is real,
I’m a field that’s lying fallow,
trod upon and ever broken,
dear I think you get the feel,
you should know- it’s not surreal,
bite the bit and suck the marrow,
hold a vantage not so narrow.


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