Just A Tear Down A Cheek...

Hello dear, may beseech I how thou hath been or dare shall I to ask for this wait of the hour seems to lack an end. So long has it been, oh dear! so long that fear I may become wistful now; must thee know I will but hate it that way, 'tis only my treehouse that keeps me here to stay.

Surmise I that thee want to know just the same, but alas! such bewilderment is it that wonder I so oft if lies there any vestige of truth - I hath perhaps, lost my conviction. Tell me, shall I be still confident?

Did I ever let thee know of this neighborhood of mine amidst all those hours when underneath that bower of the camellia roseate had the cambric of our shirts touched? Tell me if I ever did. You do not answer, and so ask I one more time - did I ever, be it in some dream sweet? for 'tis nightmare to me.

Is it now an hour just another, and there is nothing to bother about. May thou sleep for can I not. 'Tis merely me and my mind falling out of harmony as sing a priest a dirge so holy right yonder where we both found our religion. There is nothing to bother about - is it the end of twilight today and nothing more than that. Thou see, is there's nothing to bother about. Why do thou bother then? Am I affected enough to scourge my skin scrounge how many times must I jeopardize this body of mine until my soul is all I am scratching?

The day encounters cerise a sun, and I am walking home once again.

The blizzard, too tangible for me to be evasive, falls softly on my cheeks where the "truth runs wild" avowing my defeat.

I realize, as hear I a lark sing in this strange hour...queer as my presence is... yes, I realize that with my desires, I have lost all my sense of time just the same. Can thou help me figure it out? Yet, warned must thou be to not consent if deprecates thy heart for the same - I want to save a soul now - dare thou not damn it!

Does anything intrigue thy chest to appraise every inch of how I move now? Tell me and will I satiate your wish with demands none in return for hath I only to give - am I left only to give. Ah! here's what I again see, thou still do not speak.

Why the same spectacle? Why! has thy breath rendered thou aloof now? 

How come? I do not see a reason why.

So pardon me hence, for obliged am I to keep asking as I trample these pebbles grey beneath the sole of my shoe - Thou see, that is all I get to crush. 

So trample I on this cul-de-sac, fluttering my fingers against the rails I also pass;

trample I even when lies the other end closed because you see, is this a dead-end street.