as three babies thought of the future,
in limbo three souls were put to rest.
why teach soul-economy to the young ones,
when we can blame them for everything instead?
remember the love that she gave you?
i'll want it back by the end of may.
dutifully unprepared to confront youth,
virtually ready for despair.
as the sun comes rushing in
through the cracks in the window, with a Matisse-like sheen,
a witch ponders over her natural, self-made enemy;
her trees are topsy turvy,
her entrails are unfurling.
as she careens into arms unfolding,
her breath mist was captured by Rodin
make art of what scares you
if my head hurts, will i get a toothache?
if my neck burns, does it mean i'm raging?
does the burn feel the pressure of me failing?
does your mom know your chest-burn won't bail me?
will you hold her, when she's escaping?
will she ****** the thoughts that enthral me?
if my head hurts will i get lonely?
if my veins stop will you stay with me?
as the hangman jumped
the rivers explode,
the music has stopped,
everyone just watched...
he's taking a leap
but the adrenaline's gone.
i owe myself
for who i used to be
and a promise
for what i will become
Bringing me back down to earth.
Knows that love makes you float.
Says “no, not this time.”