advertise that love
to censor your peers
cotorizing wounds
to bow for applause
but lacking insecurity
we'll promote:

my dears;
here's to the murder of uncertainty.

but wait!
new evidence proclaims
those lovers envy your power
and any work
between is defined divine;
worked with a spade
burrowed in your sun
to holocaust that life.
tab'ing the theft of
someone else's work:
whom decides when to give out?

with such valence
we coordinate with
convenience.

my lovers;
here's to the death of dependency.
fissured rejects
left to project a suicide note
propelled through the window
on the wings of everyone's tounge.

burnt with the tact
of a chemical remarkup
i think someone's
snowballing a bill directly
off the till of your attachment.
spindling cadavers through chords
spiral your attractions down my throat.

my children;
here's to the execution of monogamy.
playing as
the public stereo
to ensure my
warmth across your body
structured as
the impartial scalpel
to wheedle myself
close to heart.

my lovers don't mean healthy;
i love you doesn't mean correct;
my relationships wouldn't mean close;
my affection doesn't mean forever.

and if that relationship is convenient
my lovers don't mean healthy;
let's spill the contents across your reply
i love you doesn't mean correct;
splinter those crippled pillars; and contract
my relationships wouldn't mean close;
conceive every act as ours to atone.
my affection doesn't mean forever.