Lifeworld is wondrous full of possibilities endless in time theoretically

Yellow-green leaves lie still Upon the concrete ground. Cars are parked, People are sparse; It is the afternoon.

Is it too much to ask for, The self being contained Under the snow of your eyes Reaching out, never quite grasping The height of the situation.

Around her neck Hangs an emerald line, Dotted with sun-facing flowers; Silky smooth, speaks her mind. This line brings this poet

The words, the hate Flies, no, spurts Out of your dull mind Faster than comprehension Allows you to filter,

A roman man cut forests into maps of mazes, inserting himself into the calendar of caged women. He is no king—

I can see you’re still bleeding. I would like to dress your wound, my wound. In my haste I now realize, I bleed too.

I believe music is the tragedies o… micro-dosed to us. A chord change to minor ends with us crying, a picardy third

This headache, these carpenters in my bedroom, pound my respite with no quarter. Just now, I need, despite the con…

In an instant she turned to ice. I fired myself to thaw her. But she was too cold

Progression or depression, it depends on the portends. But never regression.

From the day that we met your name has bounced around in my… increasing in volume it’s really loud now but i don’t mind

The wall’s broken down, The river’s run aground, The water’s sound Is nowhere to be found. The angst of it comes to call

Crush my heart And take from me The very passion that is my soul; Rip it out And leave no doubt