it weaves in and out of your preoccupied consciousness
then the towers crumble into that sweet sweet sanity
and the flowers all bloom with the intelligence

it weaves in and out
through the pores of your fingertips
where lavender oil is spilled over a mountain

it weaves in and out
through the crevices of your solitary mind
your last breath becomes of it

your last chance to redeem your father’s stance
it weaves in and out of your arteries
pumping like roses

your legs separate from your talents
your passions become something extraterrestrial

it weaves through your education
and leaves your nail polish sticky

it differentiates the grass from the moon
constantly spilling, pouring
from your mouth

your heartaches become minute and simplified
but are constantly ****** into your very frontmost
vision

it weaves in and out of your preoccupied consciousness
then flowers into separate entities
similar futures

it’s always on your head
and in your soul
what you’ve become