Tiring incantations of the heart
Like a broken merry-go-round,
Stuck-going-stuck again,
Burning with the frustration of the flesh.

                      On rejecting conventional beauty,
                      what are the odds for another kind
                      of 90-60-90 to occur?

Tiring incantations of the heart,
Scorching from the torch of cliché
Imprinted deep within an emotional DNA.

                        The unchaste phenomenon of lingering,
                        of delaying all that you can or can't,
                        the scarlet tick-tock of indecision.

Intimacy or rejection,
They both hold still.
Thoughts as evanescent
As the soft and warm feeling of morning
Are meant to vanquish.

The boost of will I need,
The push of wish I should bear,
The confusion in all the
vases I hold
bottles I break
paper I tore,

all these façades,

are only words,

words,

words...