What’s in the middle part? I’ve slipped in an infinite figure-8 without hesitation. You thought I died. I tried. Now the mysticism I lit up and fitted inside of me allows me to be seen when I decide. No “I” in team, just me, and all the unseen. I reappear as a ghost, or so you thought. What is caught? I catch you on your way to sever the scene of every tear that you shed for supposed loss from you. You’ve slept in permafrost; you look blue in the face, but you don’t mind being haunted inside the car. Call me a dark star. Call me a stark messenger. I just want to see how far I can make “too far.” You’re the only one who can see me, half asleep in the backseat. Fuck the defeated look on my face. Throw a glass, smashed into fractions in the motel when my name is mentioned; the vivisection of the innate.
I’m cold, faux-coped, I’m cold
I’m comatose through 20,000 volts
I’m starting to get scared that if I
live in dark, the dark is all I’ll know
Everybody’s at this retreat and I’m just a stowaway. I’m with you and I guilt you to love me ‘til you go away. Every friend who thought they remembered me right is outside. I thought sin was simple, but what is wrath without pride? I sit in the cabin and recall the dream from “Ritual.” I sit in the cabin ‘til the glow from Holy light subsides into another dream I don’t want to let into my already unsteady line of sight.
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