We have to wither and die a little.

Prune, snip off all the bad, no-good things.

Even the parts that grew another home in your veins and bloomed roses around your ribcage.

Thing is, it is a place you need not visit anymore.

Burn down all the empty houses
with
light-bulbs still on & unlocked doors.

You need not wait.

From the ashes and bones,

there, you're *blooming.

.
  •
            sing to
                   me a  song
                           so melodious...
                               •one of  sweet so-
                                    unding timbre•let it
                                        ••   capture and numb
                                           ••             me senseless•
                                            ••        ­          take me to a
                                             ••                ­       place and
                                             ••              ­             time so
                                              ••                               fami-
                                            ••             ­                    lia-
                                           ••               ­                   r•
     ••
     ••
     ••
where fond       ••                      
memories linger free•fr-                                  
om all worldly constraints•                                    
where our ears can see•the                                      
passing bliss in heaven's                                      
godly paint•                                      
.