Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.

Four be the things I'd been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.

Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.

Music curls
In the stone shells
Of the arches, and rings
Their stone bells.

Music lips
Each cold groove
Of parabolas' laced
Warp and woof,
And lingers round nodes
Of the ribbed roof

Chords open
Their flowers among
The stone flowers; blossom;
Stalkless hang.

.
.
i want to pull you apart in sections like an overripe orange
and lick all the juice off of your skin
.

When one wakes
and takes on more exhaustion
than before they've slept...

When one shakes
and the stakes doubled in depression
than before they've wept...

When the moon hides
in fear it cannot any longer please
the eyes of illusion and beauty...

When soon the falling tides
crash down, go and slam, stronger, to tease
the lies of disillusion of your cutie...

When everything crushes your skull
bones like a ghost disappear in tears
with arms lain out holding on tight...

You'll realize nothing exists in full
alone with an empty host laying in fear
and those arms are holding nothing...

every...

night.