Tap out the trap before the opening of those linguistic flaps,
Finely folded and discreetly moulded with the sole intent to validate first
and to violate third as
we the second note,
or chortle along with that sickly song of self perceived wit,
pulsing from within finger tips.

Tipped and clipped, dip one by one
excruciatingly to dig out:
A selection of fragile fragments, slid under skin with their own sins
and packed tightly within the ever more in-personable persona which
they concocted for others,
they cut open to show any little hint of
decency, any little detailed piece of decorum,
an attempt to save face.

But, so vulgar are the sweetly sweated pair of palms which map out sadistically slit words onto the screen.