My cadence long since formed is familiarity
You, in some half-unknowing fashion, got in the way.
Be it known: you are my anger.
Is, then, maturity between us?
Or does my facade overshadow your jeweled possession?
I saw in your pretension a misty isle and so
My own pretension wishes to know many things –
Why your silence screams like innocence
Burning at the stake, arrest me with all you are.
Remember that I, too, was young.
Let it be indiscretion of a scarlet nature.
My maturity is an uneasiness
In which I hold you inside of an island prism –
Be it yesterday, today, tomorrow.
Here, then, do I realize your pretensions
Are naught but a mirror of mine.
We both find ourselves lost at the hands of
My cadence – motion which holds me
At a loss for the need of apologies.
Be it known, at long last all this should be my peace.
Turn from me for this lifetime, suffer this no more.