The blood falls like confetti
like glitter from veins,
a celebration of the possible,
of the bargain we make with faith.
We can release ourselves from
the prisons of our bodies,
pry ourselves open knowing
that it has to be better, somewhere.
There must be something that is not this.
Every world I've carried inside of me
will be born, explode into superior existence.
This shell cannot contain the real me.
It never knew how.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
The blood falls like confetti
like glitter from veins,
a celebration of the possible,
of the bargain we make with faith.
We can release ourselves from
the prisons of our bodies,
pry ourselves open knowing
that it has to be better, somewhere.
There must be something that is not this.
Every world I've carried inside of me
will be born, explode into superior existence.
This shell cannot contain the real me.
It never knew how.
