Hurting yourself,
You won\'t say anything about
falling notches. It bruises, it
bleeds.
You will condole,
and like sundew, trap my poems
in backfoot.
Explicitly I will ask,
never stop crying.
Your neighbourly pain will descend.
Its lips become dirty,
when facial expression of moon
alters.
I want to change
my religion, drumming up
the nuances of refusal.
It wrongs you,
when an acceptance,
means never.