GO STREAMMMMM PLSmore

I redact what I feel, then footnote each fracture parole in my tone, but the clause reads like they reaching for “capture.” Tried to motion for peace, but the form in my voice got invoiced and denied they said “trauma’s a witness,” so let’s let it preside. Hung on semantics, nay, I pledge with precision 'cause guilt wears a robe, but it walks in indecision. File regrets as exhibits of doubt, dear bailiff, feel free to label each reprieve as a bout. Voir dire in reverse I picked the lies I could live with, 'cause the truth got dismissed when syntax reads cryptic. “State your intent” I sense tension in such tact, but the court drew a line through my context and we agree to disagree on what is fact. Jury of echoes, all object from a clause I was tried by my tone, not the shape of my flaws. Now the gavel just glutton no judgment, just "truth" and I bill by the hour for my burden of proof. All Rise Time For Goodbyes Case closed No More lies Solitude and Solace Lady Justice on ice, dull of ear left the confinement in a bottle Everclear Ladies and gentlemen no oath, just omission. After commission after omission. Still no remission. We rest not for justice, but a clever and strategic attrition. He redacts what he feels? Then where’s the appeal? You edited with fiends ‘til the fiddler signed off the deal. This is perjury dressed in a poet’s mislead guised damned little Bec, the pawn. Lord Loss checks stalemate with his dread, narrative alchemy turning guilt from family to a familiar artery and vein he bled. ‘Parole in his tone’? That cadence is fed on the backs of excuses that sleep in his head. He motions for peace, but the clause was a trick filed under “performance,” withdrawn when the line sticks. Trauma presides? Nay, resides bribed in the court’s ear, had pain take the stand while the facts disappeared. Syntax ain’t cryptic it’s cowardice dressed as a clever defendant who won’t self-assess. He pled with precision? Precision in what? In dodging the blade that he sharpened in trust. “Tension with tact” that’s a riddle for blame. He decorates silence and then calls it a name. Tried by his tone? Or, by lack of admission. Truth needs neither ticket or filter, just earned recognition. Gavel the glutton he whom echoes the cost. He bills by the hour for verdicts he lost. And that “burden of proof” he claims as his scar? It’s the weight of a man who mistook doubt for the bar. All Rise Time For Goodbyes Case closed No More lies Solitude and Solace Lady Justice on ice, dull of ear left the confinement in a bottle Everclear Court is adjourned before it ever convened. The trial, a mirror, we stage to stay clean. The verdict? Reset the set. The guilt? Displace and forget. You watched the whole show just to save face. We subpoenaed your silence to fill up our coffers with fear, cross-examined your flaws to redact our own years. Each objection you raised left a truth we suppressed 'cause admitting you’re right meant we failed the test. You stood for a system we forged from evasion, where pain is a product and doubt’s entertainment. And though we called you defendant, we staged you as proof that reflection’s a crime when it sharpens the truth. So we tried you for tone, for tact, for disguise, knowing full well that the Jester never makes the reprise. We swigged from your syntax, called metaphors stained hands and silt but each bar you bled was the knife Lady Macbeth helped build. You bill by the hour? We spend by the lie. Your “burden of proof” was our need to deny. So now—no applause. No penance. No fame. You were never on trial. Just a ghost taught to take the blame. Solitude and Solace Lady Justice on ice, dull of ear left the confinement in a bottle Everclearmore