The one who can't shut out.

You're the one who
won't shut up, and
'You're The One Who
Don't Shut Up,' and? 

Don't engage.
So? Lution
solved.
Mutation
scored upon
resolve in brightline
burnt past heal or scar. 

Trauma is life.
We've come so far
we might have balls:
admit to strife, but

I can't be the harm 
once caused, if every 
time it's mine by laws. 

You've got to learn
the difference, once:

some one must cut
some other twice:
three times for luck, but?
Last cut counts for well and good.

In great amounts. So-so?
So now? It's I who'll be
so ever-present in the lee
of such a stone left so 
unturned. 

I will survive the other's 
heart to see. Not soft,
not 
hard. 

If that's the case? 
Then be it thus. 
There's no must 
needs nor time
at all, to need
to waste 
between 
us two.

We 
need not be, 
at all, since you.

Since only harm 
can come to future 
you and yours? 

Strike won. 
You've scored; 
all game is yours. 

I've got the gate.
It's as you say.
We couldn't wait.

I will be past

The Raven's mark: 
made vain upon
the writing desk
where once tasked Poe

where once croaked 
Poe, by pinion-pen
on wavy window,
cleaned too soon
so grimed too slow: 

"Forevermore" 

was never, once. 

No. That was
then. 

It's what one 
wants:

the other
wonts.