Slightly Sweet

you wanted to penetrate my soggy cocoon of self-pity and sadness, poignant, but pointless. So serendipitous, I said to you, that I would shun such selflessness, (simultaneously) pretending I need space, and leaving you scorn, when sharing souls was sought to be my only purpose. The secrets, selective, but prepared, then perpetrated. Scouring, stuck between surrender; a proper salutations, and (pathetic) sobbing, sequestered in this predicament of possibilities and sentiments.