Pseudopsychosis.

No use for the forget-me-nots
my fingers are frozen on the congeries of madness,
please do not find my duplicity;
through veins darkly, my pet virus born
twirls the tribe of aurochs—
but even then it could not embody
an unbridled death to her bosom,
we doth part, legs dither,
heart ungrieved; if shyness shamed 
the oceans slaughting 
a bag of bones, it lain a stentorian love 
if shyness shamed
she recalls in deathly naught the beguile 
of roses, adulterated by her fingers,
written in verses yet morose 
for fear of happiness undeceived,
propelling from the di-mania, pet virus
forgives each abuse, offering hand into smite,
a hand she takes in flattery; 
a single finger scorned.

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