What catharsis is this that feels so plagiarized, I mistep, misquote, this thing you call hope. Do not mistake the mistakes made up at what I thought was the goddess's feet, it was only just a threshold to pass over.


    and you'll tell me that I was wrong an that living is dreaming but what is this teeming feeling of tranquility seamlessly seeming full to bursting like a symbolic version of fertility this cancelation of emotions rocking us through the motions of what people say is the end.


    I saw the church, I saw the altar, I didn't see the lie behind your eyes, as you faltered to say yes, it was then I climbed the steeple and rang the bell, outside it rang and the people saw, and in my fall I welcomed death.