Your patience always manages to elude me-
willing to invest yourself entirely to this cause.
Your keen awareness of my weakness gains you
sound footing among the muck.
You speak to me, quietly-
but not continuously.
The brief escape– into the in-betweens
the wavering of my soul- that
is where you find me.
Your strategy is to lurk-
you fallen angel.
Suspicion and theories-
This is not of flesh and blood-
but despotism- darkness- wickedness.
You will burn for this-
although, you already are.
“You have dwelt long enough on this mountain”
You no longer thrill me-