and so i wander, slowly and probably, starting to ponder, my very existence.
is that not enough, that you’ve filched my cold, dead heart but you insist, on messing with it.
you too, brute? you swear on your mother’s, grave that you have, indeed?
i promise promise, promise that i won’t, make you upset.
i’ll construct, a web of truth just, to see what you’ll say
If you have problems with this, message me. I'd like it to get better