And I am still Empire?s son
And still,

masquerading as the sun

Panopticon-eyed and shining forward, projecting a gaze and projecting you
Tonguing out the you

But you hate this poetry,
You hate it
All you want me to do is talk to you, on a real level
You want me to deconstruct the poem in my eye
to de-cloud the mist from my sky
so far I?ve reigned on this

Origins from gray areas and eras

And I want you,
wantonly wanting you to empty the four chambers of you four chambered drum
beneath your shirt, beneath your skin
I want you
I want you,

For you
I have this 1000 paper craned kiss

But you tell me
?Noli Me Tangre?
expressing your own wish not to be fixed
Feeling that you do not need fixing

Telling me that you are not broken,

I aim
to break

But it is I that is broken

It is December, we part ways
I do not invoke your name, you invoke tears

It is February, I do not hear from you
I finally hear myself

It is March, Spring is here, I feel entitled, I feel little and too much all in one breath

It is April, I want to read?