i see you
silly little boy

under that nest of a head
or maybe you're a ways lower

behind that tiny heart turned upside down
the one that marks your real one

i see you
struggling to form sentences

staying quite on the surface
saying silly little things from afar


because you don't know how
because you're afraid

oh to long
but long I do

on the cusp
of greatness and not
in superposition existence caught

immobile as dawn breaks
for a day not yours but the world's
as it ends
each eye aches

never out always in
don't use those words
they betray sickness

oh but I am

tales of yore
echoed then
echo now

of your blinding perfection
bone against bone
not one past another

you are what he seeks
but not I
not anymore

weep tears of paint
balanced in your imbalance

in this moment of weakness
I come back to you

have you any clue?

wartorn and moving
I come back to you

trembling roars make timber
shiver by the bank

and Beanpole stands contemplating
he'd be doing the right thing for the wrong reasons

dead vines or maybe dying
no tears no flaccid crying

a ray of sunshine makes them crawl
at first they whimper as if being mauled