I'm transforming into this chunk of ice, which I despise,
With all the bitterness and anger on the rise, about all the lies.
Mine, hers, and all the opinions in between, added to the heat,
Of the reactionary nature of our deeds, when neither heeds.

Slavishly like madmen we were striven and riveted, but inhibited,
By the lack of the giving and getting it, but now we're shedding it,
Not only that but shunning it, like some kind of punishment,
Like we've both been lazy and this is the comeuppance,
Or we've both been crazy and we just said 'Fuck it!'

Practicality? Practically a fallacy. Held together by duct tape and fantasy.
Polar opposites, magnetically linked, improbably synced,
Totally on top of it, until one of us blinked, now we're past the brink.
Recalling... Following my calling to be free falling.