I think I watch you dance, the way you do with your vocal ammunition.
Piercing my arms and my chest 'til I'm bound with your stakes of impassionate discourse.
Falling from rise to level, the way autumn robs the leaves from their cradle.
This whispering chandelier echoes the dawn of the apathetic sOcial anti conformity.
Do you belong if you're different?
What matters is that I'm here and everything is askew
Just a bit.
But enough for the oil to slip and the fires of this envical despair pillage and burn the remainder of the dry eyed demons.
I want them to rob you of your guilt.
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