Thy Pattern

We tore our petals from their tenderness…
And when I slept you’d kneed
glue into my wings
Tie rocks across my eyes
and stab forth for,
from where I sing
And I would not pretend to morn your death,
I would honestly probably solemnly just tell Jeff.
And I could explain all sorts of numb,
but this ain’t no, wound-licking tongue.
I keep trying to finish writing this line about women hiding in their twenty’s,
but…
I am no settler, and ain’t met yet a girl who knows what the fuck…
Let me rephrase…
I am no settler, and ain’t met yet a girl in her twenties who knows what she
wants…
I A M N U M B, from T R U S T to the tongue…
I get it, have got it,
You wanted a bodice
In order for to worship you dark goddess…
Yeah, you know how to pick em,
Like a cheetah on a sick one…
And tour your pedals from their tenderness
It’s my pattern…