I can't be Isis to your Osiris because your blatant indifference has dissuaded me from assembling your fragmented parts. How do I even begin to connect each component when you've chosen not to acknowledge mine? You are perplexing and I doubt I'll ever be able to solve your equation... I've always sucked at math. I find you more desirable when your limbs are strewn about anyway, for it's your heart I crave, not this menial jargon. I'd prefer it if you spewed your shit-speak past some other dumb damsel... perhaps she'll lick your wounds and find the patience to solve this fleshy jig-saw puzzle. I'm Miss Tart... take heed. How can I be courteous to you when, at times, I'm angry with myself? The rage is lucid in my reality... Yours? It's limp.. laying in several pieces. You wore a red flag pinned to your shirt pocket but prudence rarely ever matters to lovelorn fools. Now here you lay, broken on the floor... each part insignificant. The pawn has run out of options... She has taken a detour, carefully stepping over each piece in her departure. She now acquires a taste for that which really matters, abandoning these leftovers for some other hapless fool.