your black and white expression
hides the colors underneath,
and when death is your complexion,
to the earth you will bequeath  
that white and black wreath.
And the sky will claim your teeth

for stars for stars for stars

your black and white expression
to the earth you will bequeath,
and the object of your affection
longs for colors underneath.
her body will be the heath
and the sky will claim her teeth

for stars for stars for stars.

Who's suffering have I been blinded to
by my own self-interest
and what do I find so
interesting?

When numbed by the massive
waves of pain
felt, so far away yet so many,
where is my own hand in the healing?

Are the wounds of
apathy
enough to bleed out by,
or will the will
be enough to lift the bandage

to stem the tide.

there is comfort
in something that can't be understood
vast concepts
like blankets to be rapt it

I would like to formally apologize,
for turning you into a demon.

All I wanted
was to be sane.

So,
I took what I could.
your taste.
your touch.
your time.
Of course, you kept your body,
no matter how much I wanted it.
No matter how much I had it.

I tried to cover my self
with your fingerprints
so that maybe no one could see
the skin underneath.

I tried to cover my selfishness
with my fingerprints.
tracing confessions of love
on your alabaster back.

The fingerprints are still there.
Populating our clay flesh
and our sky minds.
I'll admit to their beauty,
however tender they may be.

After the end,
you kept yourself,
and I kept
your touch.
your taste.
your tears.
pooling like the puddled palette
of a weeping painter.
running down my spine,
making me cry,
the colors.

I wanted you to feel me,
but my eye are knives
and my fingers flames,
so I strayed from my self
and gave you my mirror-heart
so you could watch yourself walk away.

Now that you're gone
your demon screams for freedom,
but she's kept engaged.
For I'm afraid
that her release
is my destruction.

Slowly,
I can feel her becoming my bones.
Soaking in.
The colors.

I would like to formally thank you,
for being my demon.

you're voice
carried away with waves
and there's not a trace that stays

come now, let's play

volcanic ash falling
fast from a cigarette
something in the beat calling
you've felt this I bet
searching for a fleeting fix
but everything is good, set
caught up in a tired mix
you've felt this I bet

river trail;
a breeze in every tributary
bend

river trail;
a breeze
(in every tributary bend)

Ensnared.
suspended asleep in a spider's web.
how do you fare?  
floating in air

Repaired.
looking like new,
you don't seem to care,
do you?

The way we shape the space between,
making things into how they seem
out of this dream.

Released
from the endless reflection.
you've finally ceased
to increase.

At Peace
with the manifold of gems.
two demons apiece,
the seams turned to hems.

The way we shape the space between,
making things into how they seem
out of this dream.

Looking at looking
the fish started hooking
at the rate of the great vibration
1,1,2,3,5,8,13

On and off,
it never stops,
and it has yet to start.

the drip of drops.
what use are clocks?
it is in your heart.
it is your heart.

The way we shape the space between,
making things into how they seem
out of this dream.