repossessed of the sweetest invitation is how devils tell the truth.
cast aside like the daily rubbage, i know i was a temporary creature
(enjoying the ocean and the waves it brings under a blanket of stars).
i found thee brimming with life so courageous under the apple tree.
no more, as i am the ethereal to you. i was once upon a time as well;
mere static playing in your head so you would not feel so alone
with your quietness like a star in the corner of my mind, just swimming.
i am the used and the old news and was never worth your real time.
time always marches forward while the moon is ever changing, but i
am the wasted of all you have wasted. turn round, miss rose, and skip
back to your apple tree. the trust you had vanished with the lies
you told all of your husbands years ago. do they know your apple tree?
though i am dead to you, the secret is safe because no one trusts the wind.
no one trust just how much you taste like earth and how you fumble
with your thoughts and lack the desire to be yourself and how you hide
who you are from those who should be the closest to your heart; liar on fire.
this is just another unremarkable day; this day you killed me like the others.