I wish to abbreviate my feelings, my moral sense.
I wager that if I did—you wouldn't comprehend it.
You'd waver, deeming it no more than dust, ashes.
A deadlock of conflicts—alas, I did not long for it.
You ask for grounds—then rage when you apprehend it.
You ask for grounds—then rage when none answer it.
Your words are like swords, slits in millions of slashes.
Your eyes are daggers—daggers!—utter nonsense.
I wish to abbreviate my feelings, my moral sense.
Just to ease your temper, just this once be tender.
But now I fear your temper, not fair—I surrender.
I was only looking for the absentee.
