Lulled to rest in the darkness hiding your treasures
I will make the world obey
Some seven days
Modestly virtuous, but not without illustrious intellect
Take this pouring vessel with eyes still dazed
Fill the vacant place, there
And suddenly, of a free woman comes a bond-slave
Accepting the sickness that must overtake us
Only then
Can these rituals remain
Whether they help or harm
No one knows

fingerprints on copper tin
your petals peek way from within
your walls, and I'm alive to hear
about your day
and all the different dimensions
of the man with whom you chose to stay

like a little sunflower,
I'm facing you, and all
of your distractions, and the simple
loveliness that stems from your darkest depths,
I know something you don't

I t I s o k a y . e v e r y t h I n g y o u l o v e I s s t I l l t h e r e . I t w o n ' t g o a n y w h e r e . y o u a r e j u s t o n a b r e a k r I g h t n o w . t h I s I s n o t t h e r e a l w o r l d . t h I s c a n ' t b e r e a l . o n l y a t e m p o r a r y s I m u l a t I o n t h a t y o u ' v e b e e n m a n I p u l a t e d I n t o v o l u n t e e r I n g f o r . y o u s t I l l h a v e y o u r p e o p l e . e v e r y o n e y o u g r e w u p w I t h . t h e r e ' s g o t t o b e p e o p l e o u t t h e r e w h o w a n t t o p l a y m u s I c w I t h y o u . s o m e d a y y o u ' l l g o b a c k . I n t o t h e a r m s o f s o m e o n e w h o l o v e s y o u , e q u a l l y , s u r r o u n d e d b y f a m I l I a r a I r . j u s t h a n g I n t h e r e . I t ' s s o c l o s e .

It's no surprise,
I liked life better with you,
But what can I wait for?
Let's get together,
We can form a chain.
To bind, to instrument-alize my eyes.
We can talk philosophy in dark caves,
    tinker ... tinkering ... tinkering away at my soul.
And still, I romanticize the darker moments.
What changed?
The freedom to hurt myself.
The freedom to fix myself.
And you don't know that you've reached that point,
Until you are there.
Seeing you.
Senses awakened, I found my way back home.
The only man who could ever impress me.
I'll get high and decide that this desolate life only breaks and forms bruises on innocent thighs,
Why am I in a wasteland?
Can't you hear the hummingbird's cry?
Show me all the wounds that you have acquired, every breath stolen from a throat wrapped in strong hands.