Would petulance remove you if I speak
The words as if they were as strong as I am weak?
And set upon my heart, as if a laminate,
An armor that would minimize the burden of critique?
By statement like a hammer yet to strike
Do I concede that we are nothing but alike?
Or bind, to the contrary, all the evidence
Delivered by an arbitrary pulse that chose to spike?
Would sentiment deliver me a path
Devoid of error just to circumvent the wrath?
When looking at the pictures made of circumstance,
Was I a fool to turn the worst emotions into math?
By rigid arbitration and a need
To see a meaning, did I merely never lead?
Or here, in hesitation, did I choose to hate
How much I had to hold on to the past, and on to you, so I could learn how to proceed?