And when I turn to stone someday
You will become Medusa
The very moment that you lay your gaze
On my skin of cold-hard gray

it all feels like disease and i want to strip my bones raw; manic
(sugar rush deity)

what am i to you… what are you to me, aside from endearing silhouettes; pixie
(mumbling shy songs)

in an ocean of violents in bloom we speak artificial prayer; dream
(cloaked in starry-eyed acapella—thats what they think, no?)

i surrender to your clarity and intensity and charm and beauty that my hands are too numb and dull to touch; girl

and then comes wrath: a dewy vileness teetering on the brink of your 9th life
now hell has harnessed my chest, for it is with deep regret and shaky sobs that every opening and crack in my body emits rotten remains of our silent war…

but there are still heartfelts i never mustered up the courage to let go of:

thank you for tip-toeing around broken strings to reach out once more, twice more
thank you for enduring my futile voyages through resentment
thank you for soaking all my insanity in like sunlight and excreting back out a gentle rainfall

And some might say
I've lost my way
But who are they
To judge
When numbers rule
Our nights and days
A life of Midas' touch

And all of those
Who quantify
All the good and woe
Will be too vain to realize
They are their own foe

And some might say
I've lost my way
A sentence I'd forgive
But it's the dreamer, not society
Who, the way forward, shall cleave