Term

There is no descent of a pendulum

To splinter the crushing patibulum

That's keeping your mind from its pabulum,

And famine has fangs that will clinch.

I thoroughly hate what you said to me.

The tone you employ should get bled so we

Can tentatively mingle more peacefully.
Your voice can make astral form flinch.

I know that you have a priority
To speak with that bogus authority
On--sadly--the fucking majority
Of topics a person can think.

The first time I had to encounter you
My bruxism got so much louder to
Conceal from my hearing the jive you threw.
The aegis of calm got a chink.