painted tiles on temples, whisper what you think they mean
we all think we're great historians but we all just disagree
raindrops settle on petals; raindrops settle on foreheads
our lungs fill with chemicals and regrets
read poems by the river with a raincoat and a flask
refuse to say what the words mean if anybody asks
there are long conversations nobody wants to have
the current like our lips keeps moving fast
a row of empty canisters just waiting to be filled
watch the bees as they fly home weighed down from the fields
there is certain destruction for everything we ever build
but for now ornaments sit on windowsills
when doors creak in the night do you always tense your back
because teeth are made for biting, not for grinding when you're sad
a lifetime's hesitation lies ahead if we don't just act
our bones will one day soon be artifacts
jump against a mirror just to try and feel whole
but a reflection's just an image and an image is nothing at all
so look into my eyes, tell me what do you see
I see two black wholes and a thousand galaxies
I see two black wholes and a thousand galaxies
if you listen very carefully you can hear the earth shake
it's not so much a movement as an indecisive state
where fluctuation is the name of the game
and we oscillate between hope and disdain
so rinse off all your pebbles of the mud that's in their pores
I need to stop and think about what it is I'm fighting for
pieces of paper blow down the street, torn into frayed maggot shapes
one near my foot reads 'I wish I could have stayed'
kind people, they're like blue foods, it's a limited category
and as you age I hear every hill, it feels twice as steep
but embrace your lovers without rigidity
there is no sequence only possibilities
fingers dipped in oil losing grip on themselves
a moment of connection surrounded by chaos
my hair stands on end for lightning and for love
while children carve their names in the rocks
write how you feel on the walls, move out when you change your mind
walk barefoot on the needles that have fallen from the pines
the fragrance of a splinter still wet with sap
is like hot breath dripping down your back
it's like your hot breath dripping down my back
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