February 22, 2011
I hope I find a quiet place, where I can run my hands
Through silky smooth waters that caress my wrists
So they don't crack so bad when they twist
And don't recoil when I make a fist

Chassis for my being, where even memories are bleeding
I whisper in the dark of fortuna major, where even happiness is seething
Desperation looks in sickness and displeasure
Where my desire for liberation you cannot always measure

If I seem in disregard for your ways of order
It's because they drag me down with boredom
I think we should fight the good fight, ot turns me on
To know you think of yourself as competition, wretched spawn

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