But the synthesis of truth led to temporary compensation,
Barely spawned elation diluted the truth with preferences.
Upon forensics I suppose that was the point of bringing it up in the first place.
Her first face was amazing: my ideal match!
Why she had insecurities leading her to reflect the men,
Was the disrespect they'd born, playing counter to the rules.
The emotional wealth I felt meeting an image of myself,
Led me to give her what I needed while hers flew stealth.
Unfulfilled, she moved on with a confusing sense of wrong,
She'd passed on what it felt like to wait up till dawn.
It's not her fault, just a reminder to find her heart,
Mine lies inside this shaft of mine, anxious to ever be found,
He's allowed himself to live out of bounds,
But how can anything exist lower than down?
A dusty brown box off in the lost & found.
His empathy with everyone else's lack of it for him,
Continually saps motivation, growing less out and more in.
The paradox here is that he'll need society before long,
Morality in silica will necessitate a theory, and it's best if it's strong.
Should I have tried to find love through sex?
The insights of the above wouldn't've outweighed feeling rekt.
Who was she? Perhaps hidden behind her own deception,
If so, we can both be glad it ended without conception.
