∆ Neural Alchemist | Self-mythologist ∆
Woman body don’t give a fuck about that shit
Young self holds the messenger
Hidden burdens are turned to birds and
We learn to hold our sticks and stones and
We fold to break our own arms leading the way to pave
Make ends meet with woman’s meat
What a dog that eats dog girls
Woman’s bodies don’t give a fuck about rocking a foreign world
Key whispers from chosen Gods in dress
Offers ballads every hour.
Rid of it all
Hitchhiking springs guided through the exhale of stalling hurricanes
Inhaling life, exhaling blight and begs it awakens thee
Are we parasite or harmony
My stomach is full of grapefruit seeds.
I think they might even like me.
I just know they’ll love that acid burn as much as I do.
They’d be a fool not to.
One day see the fruits of my labor
Miracle after miracle
How lightly I’ll float by
I’m sure I wouldn’t even recognize
How slow my mind processes
I’ve been keeping my eyes to myself
Can’t see me
Refuse to see
One day I’ll be a shooting star and won’t be able to help but notice.
I won’t even be able to stop; catch a glance or nothing
The collisions will simply be an after thought as I’m smoking a winter spliff
There’s a peasant in me
More tame
Domesticated
A puppeteer, my sweet labrinyth
From her I get my strength
Hard steps
Most prized possessions
My sorry little secrets
Leather numbings
Tip toeing on waters
I’m holy now
Have touched the heavens
Came back lively vessel
I’m home
I’m home
Freegrandmaa 