Apologies exist as the easy way to demise;
For king as humble as I. 

Wherein eyes lie tenfold again.
Doubts grow as a flower, wilting chivalry.
A self-servicing acceptance.
 
Feel me.
It's not real, but a cold shell of logic breathing simply to smile.

Falling in love with myself, again and again.
Digressing from where I ought to be
Pulling myself away from these promises cuts deep

But freewill remains, 
Willingly called for you.
Should I return? 
My only parallel: to leave this empty path to constrain my heart.

Respectively, we have our logics.

Despite it all,
The calculations unceasingly playing my heartstrings still remind me
Remind me of the starting line.

But I refuse. 

Frozen where nobody can hear me scream, 
This is my own quavering dementia 

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