Subconcious.

"Fucking waste.... of.... everything" -Self.

Profusion.

I have to shut off.
I, for once thought it was blatant.
My moves.
The conduct of my presence around you.
As the usual, clasping and holding onto view of the pale cotton clouds floating free awaiting as the day dims.
When day turns to night, it never looks back.
The perimeter of our circle and our closed curve, I no longer hold on to.

The external boundary, I no longer follow.

Maybe soon reasons will appear coherent to you or seem palpable.

Now excuse me,
I shall no longer glide, hang, hover, waft, and sail on the same boat.

Muck.

Fool I am, to overlook the spunk in you. 
Each of your words are just as agonizing.
How you make one suffer... causing another to suffer.
How at times I weep upon your existence.
How I come running again pleading for you to carry me high once again.
As much as unnecessary trouble one causes...
You are indispensable, necessary, needed, required.
Its sickening.

Always.
 

Do good.

I hate how its always like that with you. 
I can never thoroughly understand on how you jumble pieces like its non of your business.
How scattered, you have my mind screwed on.
And when I start to rumble on the wrongfulness of us... 
You put these pieces back together so easily.
Surprising suddenly you began being the one who fixes-it-all.
Quite a bummer for me.
My puzzles are either way mixed up or doomed.