Trace your graceful neck
creamy swell of your breast...

When I was younger
I thought I could fly...

Shaped by outside forces
but ruled by those within...

Martyrs of existentialism
seeking our own lost causes...

He is haunted,
they whisper behind my back...

In the sanctuary of night
the world is a little closer...

Love is a many splintered thing,
shards shock like tiny bolts...

Needle whiskered purple flowers
touch me who dares...

Absence makes the heart go wander,
as if falling, falling...

A pariah
of my own Parnassus...

The day is a blue dream
you haven't felt since childhood...

The day turns black
as a million bats cloud the sky...