My sins make me afraid to see you.
I justify my fear by your inferno.
Your inferno, unbeknownst to you.
When I did measure up, I didnt serve.
I can never measure up.
Only overflow the banks with potential.
You provide the breeze of complacency.
For the corporate.
You provide docile for the rebel.
I completely shut the fuck up around you.
The sound of me screaming your name.
Know that the desire for the inverse is the drive to be the driver.
You know my future.
I have yet to live it.
My needs do not want you to restrict.
I want to unleash my needs on you.
Confidence and a good sense of humor.
Such is why I never crash a wedding.
And may always be alone.
Wish you were here.
. . .
(note: "chicks" are pieces of Charles Hamilton; "bicthes" are karmatic manifestations of Charles Hamilton)