I. The hell my mind tries to tame. The honey writhes and spits in a wrinkled cage.



II. Harvest the thick of oxygen, but never dance in the gale. Heed the vocal constellation, but never try to scream along.   



III. I taste the dry tears of last minute musings. Thorns hiss at my flesh; so still I part the green to avoid the forest’s swallow. 



IV. My bones creak with shards of the wind. Their surfaces riddled with Braille.   



V. I sit in my skin and stare at my skull. I’m not going to try and talk over the loud cranial hum. 



VI. You’ve seen the malice of history. The planet screamed an earthquake. Grass forgot to be green. The sun hung in the air like a pierced tongue. 



VII. Fathom not the light freckled days under the green pulse of Earth. Leafs have huddled into the ground like children.



VIII. In the summertime, we're all the same when we're swimming. A waltz of bubbles and hands.