william-fredrick-bissetteWhisper

American
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Willing IgnoranceYou view the world from your prison's lone window / not knowing that your cell is unlocked. / You spend all your days collecting those rays
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occupational hazardsyou're my lens refraction, my solar flare / my beautiful occupation with long dark hair / because I've got you under my skin, deep
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The Beautifully FiniteIt seems to me that even the most artfully / sculpted facsimile of that designed by nature / could never compare to the beauty of the
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Sweet nothingsI am the bodhi tree, and / my sight knows no bounds / through my great veins course your poisons
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My sweet poppyYour milk it seems now was warm and wet / whispering, wanting me to forget / how you threw me to the ground and held me there with
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the ego's heartfelt goodbyemy nothings are ever-changing / as yours are while / we dance in our ever-static time
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Moving the MoverSometimes I dream of you / you come to me faceless, dressed formally / sitting as a man on the cusp of birth and death
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Accelerating DecompressionIncendiary, explosive, / those gnashing teeth, / they hold us in their throws beneath
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Red Sky at High NoonI was built to roar and crash, / warring against your ships safety. / Desperate I unite you with my self,
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Resonant ChordsGod help those whose hidden tears / flow with no reservation / whose hearts are filled with the pain
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