To understand our consequence
To fill this broken gap
A lyrical posture
A stylized love,
Fall to fragmented death
But of course, live on.
Souls following their masters, their shells
Their worthless, powerless, hopeless shells.

Do I hate you?
My love, you know nothing of the sort.
Dearest angel.
Why do you hold your robe back?
The river has been passed.
When there is no chance of being wet
I fear it the most.
Plagued, dirty hands
Have no right to kill vermin
And have no right to touch the beautiful.

My untouchable, you know nothing of the sort.
Shall I live?
You decide.
For I cannot, and shall not.
A rapturous presence
Is there such thing?
Do you know what I mean?
When I say I don’t want to be alone?
Do you know what I think?
Inside this empty world,
What I say in this empty hollow
I am surrounded
When I don’t know where to turn.
This end, this melancholy, it is not you.
Is it overdramatized? Am I truly the problem?
Are my words as empty as my emotions?
Why are you important?
I suppose you have to be lost before you are found.
But can you be lost and never found?
You are not an object.
But I digress. For you know, my dear,
You know nothing of the sort.