Black List.

Clinging to daily rituals to draw me a false smile,
I have painted a desperate laughter upon myself about the way you view me.
Sarcasm is spewing from my mouth on overdrive with every word becoming an exaggeration with more and more elastic accuracy.
It's almost as if i have expanded the capacity of the word truth so far, that I have taken a word with strict boundaries and curved them without breaking definition.
I am finesse with my words,
Accurate to my perceptions and judgments.
A dangerous time to be my target,
A dangerous time to be my fantasy.
My compassion for an acceptance of other's opinions in love has been locked up.
I can see my desires for the little things cowering in the most eerie crevasse of my mind.
They are crying with dire fear of my seriousness.
"Cry Desires,
Cry."
The liquid shell has been poured on the ice cream,
and now its only a matter of time,
a matter of time,
before I harden, and devour myself.
Spoon feeding my own mind with delicious bites filled of everything I wanted to believe in you.
Feasting down on that every perception I had of you, that little secret that lurked the back of my mind, the tiny spark that triggers when I first experience things.
Intuition.
I tried to stuff you in the closet of my brain, and shut it hard every time you took a peek at a new experience.
Be my friend again,
Show them we can be friends again, and own this place.