Sluthering Heights

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My latest write. I've written close to 15 poems in just as many days. Be careful when you're othering that another isn't mothering the individual you are targeting while sluthering through the grass, in an effort to create division— that is, my darling, crass. With wuthering winds that stir the lies, and smothering hands that twist the skies, you push, you pull, you block, you bend— and still, the victims wonder why the rift won’t end, while you continue to pretend to be for them the better friend, while sluthering through the grass... But soon your plan will fall down hard— a victim of your own house of cards... and broken hearts will mend together while you're sluthering through the grass. What do you think? Do you know anyone like that?