A worthless instrument filled with sentiment
That is what I wana  take
From when I thoroughly become benevolent.

I yearn a reminder of a version
Of myself where I don’t have piercing eyes
Or a cold body
Or a stifling loathe of beings similar to myself
Or a need to curl up to a ball when pens *****

Ah fornicate this I can’t write anymore

There’s a hope buried in me
It multiplies like bamboo shoots entangling
It says grow thorns, be turgid
It says pop horns, stay frigid.

I walk down the corridor
Constantly defying myself
I’m one character I think
Am I?

(2/19/14 @xirlleelang)