Split the Lark—and you’ll find the Music— Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled— Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.
Loose the Flood—you shall find it patent— Gush after Gush, reserved for you— Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas! Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?
You deserve a better version of me, I'm merely existing; constantly drowning myself in Bourbon whiskey. I've been baptized by my demons, chastised with the heathens, yet I'm blessed to have you on standby; patiently waiting in the Garden of Eden.
love wills to enter the pain to sit with the suffering in unison with the poor experience injustice to be mocked, tortured spat upon, called names finally violently murdered