(A concrete floor is all that I need; I wish that I could feel the gray.
I crave
the uneven cold to chill my burning cheeks.
I need
the sensation of primitive irregularity .)

But once the rush is spent…
I will restlessly question
the veracity of the incident:
do I appear anesthetized?
In the wake of this compromise,
I honestly apologize;
how barbaric, these lethargic rules that I abide by!
Regrettably, degradation fills the negated way
and it grows ever-too-late to change.
But… my word is my honor
and I promise a whole-hearted difference in tomorrow.
Deliberation swirls endlessly, so I know you’ll forgive me.
To whom it may concern:
You punched the highlights out of her hair. YOU PUNCHED THE HIGHLIGHTS OUT OF HER HAIR!!!