Flower face,
always so warmly bathed in the sun of the East Coast,
with such soft cheeks and swamp eyes,
stagnant and wet with little creatures inside.
They're talking to me,
saying things about why I love you,
or if I even do.

Little flower face,
it makes me ache
all over,
in my muscles and my bones,
when I think of your soft petals and long draping stalks.

I wanna pat the sandy earth into place around you on nights like these
when I can imagine the warm breeze
coming in through your open window despite the cold around me
delivering a freeze
to **** all the plants
and transform this world into something so different from your reality.

What a violent child;
shredding up his skin,
trying to crack his skull just to make it hush,
fighting and screaming for the rush,
but managing to do it all so quietly
and tirelessly.

You didn't really think of anyone else,
but who am I supposed to blame?
Yeah, you may not find fame,
you may not really smile,
and I know that with this
hell's only growing for us.

I can feel fire with the knot in my throat,
when he says I should not have my own thoughts and opinions,
especially not in these conditions,
cause I know you gotta escape.

Yeah, hell's about to get so much worse,
and I am about to get so much more terse,
but it's for you so I hope this pays off.

I can wipe away tears
and wrap my arms around a friend
to comfort him
when I am saying goodbye to someone I have known since the day I was born
but I cannot hide the turmoil so well
when I crouch on the bedroom floor
packing for him
getting ready to live without him.

If I look hard enough
into the setting sun
dark will bleed my eyes
out into the through
till so full of sights it will run
into the ground.

Weightless
in the lapping waves
Careless
in the sensation
of the quiet kissing of tears off your cheeks

Shot in his ribs;
he cries,
"Oh the dis-familiarity
of such a name,
oh the cruelty
of such a pain,
oh the game
of such a vain
and ugly creature,
who slinks toward me!"