We sacrifice love, we measure for work, like dying was illegal. Trying at immortality, each step challenged, most cannot understand us. Those dreams, Love, I needed more, I was lost in asking. Along a line of parish rites, so deep in there, to arise a miracle—to feel something in density. I was war bound, I became humbled, to walk into a situation. And we drift, to speak about a tender indifference, so hurt, so denied, trying to feel excellence. I was sharing naivety; I was a note into a schematic; in running from feelings, in sinning to exist, in listening to become accurate. I was sick, Love, didn’t mean to detach it, nevertheless, until it feels justified. At moments, and it feels vague, to really desire a pillar. To chat on a level, to speak real talk, to adore responses. Like becoming best in life, to eat eternity, in soothing an inferno ache. And we drift, so on point, what in hell was the motive, to secure a soul, to need revenge upon a soul. I need the scoop, I wrestle the streets, so many hidden bosses. Been through crucibles, so rich how you’ve done it, such a brain to need an address. I back away, in dear feathers, such black face, bleeding a slew of ingredients. I hope you know, each word is inscribed, some time a footprint means identity. And we drift, so lost over some element, trying to be straightforward, realizing it aches at times. I drift; tattered at sides, thinking to a liver, unproud to confess it feels in vain.
