the voices in my head say you are being less than honest

they have a history of being mistrustful of too good to be true, and you definitely fit the bill

the voices also have a history of setting me up for failure, they camoflauge the sabotage by making delicious fallacy sound like truth

so the spork in the road leads to finding the path of least persistence, maliciousness and artful folly

follow the dromadery of ambivalent reminiscences to the oasis of heartbreak valley, or listen to the humming chorus of secular gnomes

either way, i wish i could see the real you inside the bouquet of delicate blooms, get to thorny crown of things that make up your interior designs on me

all while the voices howl and sanity takes a backseat to fast food dementia, better than a slow cooker of remorse and gently panging morose