several years, cannibalism

Glassy way, of skeleton eyes and hands and hearts, the subservient would be dead, of time and signals riddled from every mud, and swamp of skin, beckons a trap, let beneath their dayed march, and only serve / I stand inside this box, a flickering light, switch of, madness and simple, in night know no timelines. But you were a key, a cord, and selling liars made eyes—you come to know yourself, in bloating me, to grow the tree, that eats and eats, and withers as a forest, that grows out the murder to skies, that fears the fall / Sometimes when I stare at walls, I expect to find myself staring, slowly there, and it's in these moments what lose control, lose a little more to once mirrors. Something you can't wish back, something that wants be found the night: the world you want, to have some ghosts / But change is, snowmen turned to strangers, the path of secret, metal sky, friends cast from the typeset / But no beauty bore, only an alchemic safety, of bodies constant and contained, once Midas lost his mind / Hanging if it were that rope, then ends could lead to hands, what helps, not a gunman, the fate of graves, if only the dead bird could show its song / All that comes is sleep: he makes for a wounded flight / Please keep, gladiator, good friend / The weight of balance is, to strike then and collapse, but or slowly, you know me like paths, my broken puppet bones—It's time! So stage show precisely, call malice from hope, a sword that does not miss, boxes of your breathing, I will find / He makes for a silent walk, but on a night of water I, went under, and saw—your—break again, the tide to a lung, the moon she wrote down, quickly to courage / We are ant eaters, we are catalysts—the knowledge ends and ends, and brings the light to her / Rain came blue again, lets us steam to eyes: the seasons change, and they are the first pieces thrown / Shuffling hair, and, creases, waiting: You cannot hope your life away! he folds that under the others, dusting his feet off, and listens for: