My arms are limbs that must be trimmed.
My face is made up of others sins.
My bones are brittle like the passing wind.
My legs are spiders swimming in your gin.
...
Collectively we're all made of yarn
Weaving through laughter and sorrow with an open hand.
I can't help but to unravel around you, lose form, turn into utterly nothing. Perhaps some day a woman in her years
Will construct me into an afghan or some sort of comfort for others.
...
I met a boy in a flask who taught me how to act
When your lover deserts you and expressions are masks.
He taught me to live in attics with some rats.
And I'd ponder on gypsies whom I'd pay to be back.
...
My hands are made of stone
But to adore a tower so high.
I need my palms to be made of light.
I need my limbs to be made of gold
...
Times like these are troubled.
With viruses in our hands
and lack of amnesty in our hearts,
We burden those who loves us.
...
I can remember places where we would vanish around everyone.
Become completely invisible to others if you will.
And I'd feel utterly invincible in your presence.
I was lost in joyous celebration.
...
My hands are mere measurements of my disdain for the human existence.
And everything that one day hopes to be complete.
And I'm succumbing to theories found in labrynth's of minds
Hoping to accomplish a history for my name.
...
We are all shapes from a puzzle.
That fits right into his hand.
But he can't see the cover
Wearing the glasses of a man.
...
I'm lookin' at charts of stars
And I don't know where they are
I don't know where I am
But that's where we all began
...
Goodness my love
Whom are you thinking of
Our thoughts collide like
ripples on a pond
...