"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there."

The violin sings its tale of woe
Back and forth, the horse hairs vocalize
Power undulating with each flair
Shrieking, wailing, *weeping

dancing in private, alone on the waves
some things we can only to each other say
these howling winds can hardly break, hurricanes
will melt like sand around us, we are strong
the ship to my compass, the voice to my song
the heart to my arrow, the love to my pain
the rope to my anchor, the bird to my cage
I won't forget you're the only place I've ever belonged
and, darling, with you I'll stay forever long.

September is the beginning of something, and August is the end
in April we learn to love, February we pretend
March is the slow muddy month, May is exuberant joy
January revives the world, December worlds destroy
June is the month of freedom, July the month of age
November freezes you locked in time, October turns the page.

I've never felt quite so clean as when I woke up at dawn with bugs and sweat all over me after not showering for three days and I took a bath in a waterfall. I've never felt quite so clean as when the dust filled my eyes as I spun the loves of my life in circles. I've never felt quite so clean as when I kicked my shoes off and walked through the mud. I've never felt quite so clean as when I brushed my teeth in a room full of mold, body hair, and strange fluids. I've never felt quite so clean as when the smell of mildew seemed permanently embedded in my nostrils. I've never felt quite so clean as when I chose to sit in the ice cold and I wasn't sure I could do it but my friends, my friends, the truest friends I've ever had, knew my favorite song and they knew I needed help so they sang it I smiled and opened my eyes to a halo of light and darkness and love and isolation. I've never felt quite so clean as when my throat was raw from shouting and my skin was covered in charcoal and ash and the sweat dripped down my back as I was surrounded by pumping fists and bodies and spit from screams and I knew I was a leader then, I knew I belonged then. I've never felt quite so clean as when I stared up at the Milky Way, completely naked in the middle of the forest on a dirt road, walking next to a girl whose soul I dirtied and she looked at me and I knew I was forgiven and she sang to me a song that she shouldn't have. I've never felt quite so clean as when two of the dirtiest people that have ever existed, in two completely different ways, pulled together in the only light that shone through the cool new darkness of that night, while the whole of our worlds watched and we danced, we danced and they all laughed because they could see, and it wasn't what or who we were supposed to be, but in that moment it was the most clean that I have ever felt.

like a week that's only Mondays
only ice cream, never sundaes
like a circle with no center
like a door marked, "Do Not Enter"

I'm over sensitive okay?
I over analyze
I over think
But I can't shake the feeling
That I am just not
The kind of person you love
Hold, or care about

Golden lipstick casings and empty bottles of wine
They watch the willows move and breathe