| I’ve pushed a chair below the fixture
|
| I’ve tied a knot around the rod
|
| Still, I’ve yet to find the courage
|
| To take that step forward
|
| Coiled around each moment
|
| Growing in our organs
|
| Nobody gets around it
|
| Friendships never feel substantial
|
| Lovers see me at my worst
|
| No joy in social interaction
|
| No pleasure left in sexual conquest
|
| Just wasted life force
|
| Torn flesh
|
| An overrated high
|
| Once the body exceeds its shelf life
|
| There’s no temptation or desire
|
| Seems like every connection that I make
|
| Inevitably turns morose or banal
|
| But chasing comfort through the gutters led me here
|
| One fix away from a perfect place
|
| Into the fold of heaven’s captives
|
| Locked in a cell behind its gates
|
| Stripping away the moral bondage
|
| Laying the mind and heart to rest
|
| Into the burn
|
| Gathering light
|
| Severing self from flesh and blood
|
| Into the void
|
| Into the end
|
| Falling
|
| Spinning
|
| Suddenly I am moving through the moments of my crimes
|
| Seeing myself through my victim’s eyes
|
| Now I am the carrion
|
| My own release
|
| The blackest recess
|
| My deepest need
|
| I’m not suffering
|
| I am blossoming
|
| Into an absence
|
| An open vacancy
|
| I’m not afraid
|
| I am finally at peace |