What's left when the ire goes?
What's left when the turmoil turns?

Brightness chest. Return to breath.
Empty, to the full line, eyes up for the sky.

Doubling over, over with the shut door.
Over with the blockade.

What's left when the spite goes?
What's left when the part departs:

The empty art, the necroheart?
The busted love emulator?



in the aftermath.
I'm left. And I know
now, I'm allowed.
I'm allowed.
I'm left,

What's the deal with binaries?
Such pinhole lens.
If you feel wrong, then,
ask yourself, Who's standing
in my salt circle?

What's the deal with sorting hats?
So limited.
If you feel out of place,
ask yourself, Who's speaking
to my lowest disgrace?

You knew as well I as I did
this catalytic event would happen.
For only so long, can you grind
your face in the acceleration,
before you ****
with the aperture, then         what?

Great opening, come to closing,
Let's love.
Great opening, come to closing,
Let's love.

The alpha myth dispensary, dead,
I see you running free, safely packed.
Mr. Wolf, I want         some of that!

Both tremulous, you kiss me
safe. Both tremulous, you
offer me solace. Both
tremulous, you love
me warm. I take
you inside.


(those old, old eyes. . .)


I've made altars before,
your body, your form,
movement moves me,
but you, have always been.

I've made altars before,
but you, have always been.

I've made altars before,
but you, have always been.

I've made altars before,
but you, have always been.

So in one night, not even naked, I
exposed my cretinous ghosts to
someone who heard the words
and nodded. "I feel that."

What's it like to know, and
not even know why,
someone's eyes may well
convey the truth?

So in one night, not even naked, I
exposed my cretinous ghosts to
someone who heard the words
and nodded. "I feel that."

Here I thought it was wrong
that something's wrong with me --
but I function, if improperly
to your specifications.

Here I meet another functional
dysfunction holder,
boldly, in a micro moment,
exposing all of his target tattoos

with an eager, upward tug of the sleeve.

Here I thought I was wrong,
but I'd been misled,
along a familiar path
toward the ravine.

Had a thicc fog,
had a dark bog
and its bad, bad
presence, manifest
and ****** me.

Here I thought it left me.

I think leaves me over,
over and over, again.

Had its tendrils
fill the holes full,
fill me with hope,
pull out suddenly
and depress me.

I thought it came for me,

turns out it does leave,
turns out it leaves,

most likely, when I need it.

So,
Bright Beam,
I offer you refuge,
I offer you         my bad blood,
If you'll only do
What I need done
I offer you         my ill love,
I offer you deluge,
Bright Beam,
So,

Please,
Fill me up.

It's not like you knew
what you were getting
into

It's not like I drew
a map to me,

simple lines, certain
actualities like,

Oh geez, I do lots of drugs.
Oh geez -- and I love it.

Oh geez, I rent so I can
keep the better part of me.

As I've seen, city is no necessity.
But why not do so in good humor til I fold?

Until I fold. Until I fold.

I get tired smiling
Facing them beaming
Acting like a ray of the sun
Feeling like the tear of the clouds

Just wanna burst in tears
Just wanna shout my fears
But they need my beaming smile
And not my crying eyes