Holes in your heart
are meant for blood,
the blood that feeds,
but also the blood that bleeds,
and it'll keep pulsing
even if it all bleeds out.
It's your burden to see that it's done,
Oh,
but this is a game that can't be won.
No,
the map is a textile
made of the guts of moths that eat textiles,
and it unfolds as quickly as it unravels,
you only get glimpses to guide your travels,
and the light you hold to show your steps
will blow out when the wind picks up,
and it will.
Hopefully you will know,
the hands of your mother,
but the blood of the ancestors
is yours- do what you will with that,
but understand it's seriousness.
We are born crying,
and cry whenever another dies,
and our tears are salty
like the ocean that bore the first life-
And it goes on like this.
Today will be hard,
again,
even if you just sit alone with your thoughts,
but if you can, try,
because you have one shot at this,
and they aren't coming to save you.
You might be able to do it on your own-
your beating heart, still-
but no one's coming to save you.
No one's coming to save you,
Save your self!