You composed the thoughts in me,
That broke my throne, and lead me to
Submerge in hollow pits, where I slink
Off the brink. You furthered the idea that
I’m tainted crystal, dug into my clasp. I
Suppose my pellucid complexion had a few
too many holes in this haze. That I’ll never
rise above the fine wire coiled about
the rib caged buried underneath.  And as the
surge quickens, your vibrant thudding courses
through.  With every flint of illusion, you
dissect my composition that’s built
static in my chords. The part that learned
the only way to survive is to desensitize
the frenzy, that found it’s way into the
lobes of locked rhythms—entangled
strands, pushed past and hindered.
Tenuous chords that made a flawless façade—
Or tried anyways. You composed the
High of your lies to live under my
Skin. And I tried to rearrange your
Allegations with the act of wearing senses,
But find your blared shrilling’s still
Penetrate through it’s synapse that
Requires a reaction. You erected the sign
“fight or flight”, and I chose the latter with a
Swipe of one puff, as I shuttered the
Indentation before you locked it up
Tight—for good. Despite your misgivings
of whipping peaks in confrontation, I found
the escape. So don’t act surprised when you
see the gleam in my eye—how I “ventured off
track.” You can protest and claim I was swept
down in an alley’s end, or maybe just a little too
delusional for my own good in the end. But just
remember you’re the lighter, and
I’m the one who caught flame.