completely with a cause.
Leaps from strength to strength
beside me lacks applause.
My confidence is flailing, on the cusp of true parading
when the conscious overrules the rest
and logic comes to reigning.
Give me a new position in the scheme of spectrum tones
the wonderland of colour stands above the mono drones.
The clones of days and moments take away this precious time
that could be used for living and flirting with the line.
The solid dreams of want will make resentment all that's clear
regardless of the common rest, my judgement will adhere.
To what, I do not know, be it comfort or resistance,
love, manipulation or merely an existence?
Hearts are made of muscle, unlikened to emotion,
but mine is tissue paper, wet and almost broken.
The Matchmakers
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