my fingers are a dry creek bed, and my heart is the delta. scales derive from the forest floor, and we skitter like snails.
it flows. it does, out into a vast sea; currents etched in absolute filigree. you simply cannot quantify an open grave lest gravity makes it so.
love is the grave, and the grave is a redundancy.
it's the distortion of severance that sends us, flailing (willing) into the mouth of sacrifice. cross this lifeless ocean of sudden damnation allowing my depth. choose a color, and make it stick. sing vowels. next to the one killing wont.
let them spend.
it flows. it does, out into a vast sea; currents etched in absolute filigree. you simply cannot quantify an open grave lest gravity makes it so.
love is the grave, and the grave is a redundancy.
it's the distortion of severance that sends us, flailing (willing) into the mouth of sacrifice. cross this lifeless ocean of sudden damnation allowing my depth. choose a color, and make it stick. sing vowels. next to the one killing wont.
let them spend.
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