change encounters fall short,   our coincidence no longer foats,   convictions readily ignored.   you're like a postcard in how the scenery shapes your sentiment   and i am right to question your interest   and intent for overnight scrutiny,   that kept me in bed.   you're a comedy of errors.   now i won't shake your hand.   another hallmark greeting.   sodomized by disguise.   pride lies behind closed doors,   promises fucked beyond recognition.   i taped over all your mix tapes bearing the wounds of confessions.   time too plan your next attack,   like dying words,   this is my defense...   i would rather be despised than praised and trivialized.