Swings of a dance,
the tap, and the movement
take the sleep of a girl.
Creativity in its crevices.

When the dancing is over it is followed by the darkness of the drawing hands.
Hands that serve her wrist and nothing else.  And when you wonder if the souls are ready to take you,
the crisis is over but the mania begins.

Letting the waves reach me, I've let people go in fear of my own luck to let them drown. When the doctor tells you it's not you but a little man inside of you, you look back at those you've hurt.

Wondering if, If I met this little man before those I've loved dearly would I have loved them differently?

Wondering if I'm still
in the same road I chose
If I were to land in the
same quadrant
as you told me,
in that poem.

Petals had heard better lies
like the summer's betrayal
home I was,
walking as one.

Andromeda was hopeless,
as the waves took me back
and the maroon colored sea
and I lay on the petals.

To vandalize my life,
the leafs know my name,
Treachery, my friends, again.
So I wait on the petals
so they suffocate me.

No, I gave up.
Concept that I cant swallow
Because it swallows me.
Like the time I'd ask for
Things and the answer was
To think older.

Now, I still think the same.
A child who cant fend for themselves,
or
Speak in manner,
or
Right
or
Securely attached to the
Rope of ideas and hopes.

When the music
Is over and the repeating
Screeching sound of
The needle on the record I
Ask,
"Selfish to ask
for it to stop?"

Thorns are stuck onto
My foot as I walk.
And I am a forest
and I am the fire.

Lack of oxygen on a Tuesday afternoon, still forest burns.

They've walked a lot.
They've heard and wondered;
and again in the same spot
jumped and seen.
physiotherapist, they call
the way they move
the emotion through my skin
and I lay as I am eaten all again.