"Pleasures" no longer yearned for,
Distorted within currupted, coerced gratification,
You seek Only Seclusion.
Fashioning a false asocial wants,
A desire built shallow,
Brain signals latch themselves down the back of your head,
And paged words crawl up your throat,
And spill down onto your phone.
Speaking is illegal.
Seeping through the air and into technology,
I find myself humbled.
Now fruitless flowers,
With petals skin-to-skin where ppollination was force fed,
Deprived and raped of charm and chastity,
Seized from sanctity.
Coconuts flooded with beams of an ironic sun,
(Gates harvested from the pinnacle of some jungle rock,
Drills do not exist.
Not for you.)
Draining into you,
Crafting a reminder,
A token of what for months, never was,
And for many more months will take a physical shape.
Ignorant, naive banter accounted from relief intimation,
Baisly "flawed" pulchritude melts when cement dries and takes shape.
Still, no soul dares to share with you.
And only lust; not love becomes reanimated.