The stale, decaying smell sheds black dust
From withered violets between pages two and three
Marking old childhood truces unjust
For enmity ensues when pets climb solitary trees
Do not crumble harsh, thine old heart
And feed an ocean swollen with memories broken
Surmising sultry winds against all will impart
All resolutions underneath what’s yet to be awoken

A vain flee adrift from all constraint
Children in the school yard imprints
Currents fulminate ever-hoping to attaint
Colorless hues masking those bleeding tints
The celluloid that shapes my eyes so well
Where all look innocent; though all bear curses
It was an innuendo I’d long yearned to foretell
How I’d be tied and chained still while she made her traverses

She sang, “I’m fair once you learn to worship me”
Her name spoken in honor as her blonde hair thinned
I said her manipulative vengeful ship could never sail my sea
For the waters are treacherous, but her moniker will be skinned
But though I am but a ship wandering astray
I’ll perish upon these waves before perfect child’s my harbor
She’s indeed the one who bombed my array
Her virtues are but camouflaged demerits I abhor

A firmament rising above glass ceilings outspoken
Truth is always masked when imposing such a feint
And do not crumble harsh, thine old heart
To all rainbows shine upon my nemesis, I beseech
She is no saint; she is no saint!

…and the flowers reap in my hands.