wh-why why can't
you try...
why can't you try
to understand?
wh-wh-what's it
that's stopping you
f-from reaching out
and holding their hand?
what's stopping you
what's stopping you
from trying to feel
what they feel?

th-th-that may be
th-th-the only way
you'll get c-close

deny them
and deny yourself

smile
smile smile
pick flick pick
vial file pile
sunkissed
crystals
faded amethyst
clear bright
sun sun
silly sun
say sigh sigh
silly pencils
sigh sigh and
writing writing
dies dies
and writing dies dies
and I can't take my eyes
I can't take my eyes eyes
off the living living
off the flying

and I can see them
I can see them falling
I can see them dying dying and
I can see them dying and
I can see them trying trying and
I can see them trying and
prying prying prying
trying trying sighing
trying sighing
dying dying
die die
smile

the story is woven and
somehow the same string is
caught in loops
around itself
and somehow

somehow it makes a fabric
somehow it creates a universe

there's space
between every loop
but that's what holds
the warmth inside

fuzzy pockets
filled with love

the stories are interwoven
and somehow our stories
have been knitted together
somehow we are caught
in loops around
one another
and somehow

somehow we make a fabric
somehow we create a universe

I'm just sitting here
idly interpreting things of purpose
because apparently
we're here to make
Things
out of senseness.

I'm actively miscommunicating
purposeful everythings
because we're
actually
not here to make sense of
foreverthings.

Psh, neverthings. Blablabla alwords!
Anythen, you overstand, left?
Up.

sorry fickle fanatic
friendly fuzzy teddy bear
beetle on its back trying
to turn over with a pen
from a bouquet of pencils
bouncing ink stain firewall
bouncy ball

sitting on a turnstile
with tessellated tiles
counting liars for miles

I'm sorry if I'm being such a fickle fanatic.
Should I be ashamed? I am confused.
I just want to be a fuzzy teddy bear
but I'm just an angry beetle
on it's back trying
too hard
to turn over
and I feel guilty now.
I turn over and inside out
with the help of a pen from a bouquet
of pencils bouncing on ink stains
firewall bouncy ball
sickness
I feel uneasy

I'm sitting on a turnstile
watching the tessellated tiles
as I count liars for miles

shuffle shuffle click click

sorry girlboy
boygirl **** that
find some ******* friends,
you fuzzy teddy bear
you're a beetle trying
to lay on its back and turn over

try writing with that pen
you'll find it's a bouquet of truths
pick one out and run with it
they're all just bouncing
ink stains

You sit there on a turnstile
watching hundreds of your selves
shuffle shuffle on click clicking
you count yourself over and over
and you're the tessellated tiles
you're watching yourself
counting liars

use rugs and ****
yeah or animals
or the scalps of white men
feels good beneath your toes

Gods ruling
over dolls and
miniature houses

'I want that.'
'No.'
'That.'

'Give me that.'

Change it up