I seek to receive what I can never retrieve.
There must be a cure.
Ultimately what I abhor, I adore.
I must be a masochist, locking myself in your chains.
Nearing the verge of fracture,
I can no longer withstand pretending nor your pretension.
I have been your consistency when you needed me.
My patience has expired, wishing for love to retire.
Poured into a bottomless cache.
A release, some relief, if I must let go.
Too burdensome for my soul to bear at length.
Comfort in leaving the truth in your ear.
Now your response, allow me to predict.