What's Love

The trees I write upon 1080 degrees are the conduit to my moral fixations to help my ease\
I plead for less grief, but the less I have agitates my heart and makes it heave\
Deceive my love by decree from the queen she leaves and frees me
only my freedom is lost since I'm emptied into the caustic seas
then put on the chain belt as it rings through my severed skull,
through my eye socket and attached back as if a full-circle wreath\
I don't dare breathe for the flames of her wicked tongue are so, subsidedly sheathed,
she looks pleasant at the most and beautiful at the least\
but get her revenge on you like a rabid dog and she snaps her wrists to double-cross and cleave\
even being around her is a feat, little crumbs of a treat, like a master to it's pet but the master is greed\