1. |
light through lace
02:07
|
|||
|
the living room is no place to reside
feeling all these thorns stuck into my side
theres no place to hide
within this insufficient sunlight
strung out on my own lack of empathy
i was set out to be
more than a source of sympathy
seeking a soft spot on hips
where i can reminisce
nights filled with poison are too hard
to resist
this cant be me
strung out on my own lack of empathy
i was set out to be
more than a source of sympathy
|
||||
2. |
freakish
01:18
|
|||
|
i was born under a bad sky
with a sickness that never subsides
blood and marrow
we foraged just to swallow
every bridge written hollow
our voices bellow
under a bad moon yellow
testing the fire
before we build the flame
if your own bodies bones are cage
its not yourself to blame
|
||||
3. |
in rooms
03:33
|
|||
|
i want to feel someone
who doesn't know my name
to be intertwined
without any shame
its different now
but somehow the same more than ever
are your eyes still weird?
i think mine might be forever
ill always be a boy
with certain vacancy between my legs
but a soft spot for you to reminisce
as my shaky hands clench to fists
hold me down
but don't hold me back
open legs
to be filled
as soft flesh spills
fondling each tendon
unraveling
unraveling
|
||||
4. |
old haunts
02:55
|
|||
|
resting in beds of nettle
fondling with hands so gentle
memories so fragmented
like the blade of my knife is faceted
im grateful for a place to store my shadow
im not much of a home
but im thankful even so
with the trees long gone
the sea must suffice
keep your boots at the foot of my bed
we'll sleep with nothing unsaid
as the shingles in your mouth
began decaying
taking the flesh from your bones
i hope that god knows that this is only a house and not a home
|
||||
5. |
hollow houses
02:16
|
|||
|
its overwhelming me
thinking of who would cut your hair
will they treat each tendril
like a silver platter?
now that im gone
i dont even want to know
i became a list of my favorite words
when your oxygen seeped through
only now,
the opposite of oxygen
is you
i could draw your crooked teeth from memory
but i cant account 6(66) months from now
|
||||
6. |
marcelle
02:33
|
|||
|
i often wonder where Marcelle is
art became irrelevant
at the same time that drugs did
my green paints are overused
wearing grief under my sleeves
for the funerals i couldn't fly to
days inch by
as years are trampling
cant find home in houses
and i feel foreign in my body
i miss the dreams that felt like dying
sick saying i loved you as we were falling
|
||||
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