Stuck

stuck to the sound similar
to the small pats of the pads of a gecko
and its tap overlaps
so it just so happens
the echo still won't let go,
as the sound resonates
in receptors of waves
and the message is played to forever,  
the best of the days
still question their place
in the space that negates the never,
and if truth hesitates
then the news of the dates
will confuse all the fates with their clever,
bemusing displays
as they use hollow faces
to lure in the pure to the weathered,
when the youthful displace
all the rules for the cake
choosing if you should chew too
or just bake,
saying  ask us no questions you're better,
you should hold out your plates
and hope to catch a whole taste
of your own little head you've left severed