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Description
you know it's not the same when you hand me your brain and say "this is what I think of you". And I still dream of the days when my DNA will stay in place, but for now it unfurls whenever I stop moving. You cut off your hands becuase you said you wouldn't need them. (and you stopped seeing ghosts the first time you went to the theater.)

"I don't know where I am but i'd rather be somewhere else," you spoke to an empty skull. "I don't know where i am but i'd rather be somewhere else..."

so stop singing to people that will never listen — they'll never get the joke.
(oh you humble marauder, with your body made of smoke.)

    "they'll never hear me, no no no, their ears are made of wax."

but let's get back to the point.

   and/ampersand, you only speak in metaphors
          twirling your words about
   like empty,
                  empty
                              shells - cast out unto the ground; such petty little letters dissolved

and fragmented.

onethousandOne, you're writing letters home on ink that always fades.
endquotes scrawled on parchment; with nothing inBetween

this is pointless (i find you futile).
But all the while, and all the meanwhile -
You're apalled and I'm infatuated.
    you look at me with shock i find it beautiful

curved smile and a grin that holds sharp teeth;
        bring me some flowers i'll annoint your chest

   dirty
     black
        hair

                   un-
             -moving
           stare

i'm in love with those hands i'm in love with that stare i think i can deal with this i find you irresistible i think you should know this you think it's unImportant i'll write you a letter some

day you won't reply.

it always ends up this way

   onethousandOne we'll find you a priest,
a HolyMan with HolyHands and he'll heal you, yes he'll heal you

     you have a skull made out of fiberglass (tira me a las arañas)

           and every time you speak it shatters (corpus ab incunabulis)

i heard a story three nights ago, it put me to sleep

someone showed me a picture the other day it made me weep it was a picture of nothing.



               "i still dream of the way you used to cut your face"

time slows down to an unmoving cr . a .   wl. . . .

Description
you know it's not the same when you hand me your brain and say "this is what I think of you". And I still dream of the days when my DNA will stay in place, but for now it unfurls whenever I stop moving. You cut off your hands becuase you said you wouldn't need them. (and you stopped seeing ghosts the first time you went to the theater.)

"I don't know where I am but i'd rather be somewhere else," you spoke to an empty skull. "I don't know where i am but i'd rather be somewhere else..."

so stop singing to people that will never listen — they'll never get the joke.
(oh you humble marauder, with your body made of smoke.)

    "they'll never hear me, no no no, their ears are made of wax."

but let's get back to the point.

   and/ampersand, you only speak in metaphors
          twirling your words about
   like empty,
                  empty
                              shells - cast out unto the ground; such petty little letters dissolved

and fragmented.

onethousandOne, you're writing letters home on ink that always fades.
endquotes scrawled on parchment; with nothing inBetween

this is pointless (i find you futile).
But all the while, and all the meanwhile -
You're apalled and I'm infatuated.
    you look at me with shock i find it beautiful

curved smile and a grin that holds sharp teeth;
        bring me some flowers i'll annoint your chest

   dirty
     black
        hair

                   un-
             -moving
           stare

i'm in love with those hands i'm in love with that stare i think i can deal with this i find you irresistible i think you should know this you think it's unImportant i'll write you a letter some

day you won't reply.

it always ends up this way

   onethousandOne we'll find you a priest,
a HolyMan with HolyHands and he'll heal you, yes he'll heal you

     you have a skull made out of fiberglass (tira me a las arañas)

           and every time you speak it shatters (corpus ab incunabulis)

i heard a story three nights ago, it put me to sleep

someone showed me a picture the other day it made me weep it was a picture of nothing.



               "i still dream of the way you used to cut your face"

time slows down to an unmoving cr . a .   wl. . . .