Shun me out. Spectacular waltz I'm dancing with two-left feet with a heart on a headline that reads: "Perfect. Perfect, Spectacular!" in some sarcastic way, dated yesterday. Backs turned with crossed arms. Ocean tides turning, always somehow. Discreet and disillusioned. Candle scones and sconces flickering on walls. Tablecloth threading. Set phasers to shun, like I'm some social outcast deadlifting palm trees alone on some godforsaken island. Cold metal sand once that sun goes down. Wind sounds a little more threaten and ominous, not peaceful anymore. There is disjointed disjuncture. A crack in the riff, in the puzzle. Ostracized for specific criteria or beliefs. Commiserating communication. I don't want to see you anymore, I don't want to know you anymore. If I am shunned, I am not worth your conversation, not worth your time. I am hanging up now. Alone, but on my own. Synchronous possibility. Taste of danger on the tip of my heart.