“Consider how the wildflowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.”

Through even the most sweltering heat of day and the dreary quiet of the night do the lilies of the field grow. They hold a unique level of proud certainty in their color, yet in no way seem to make a prideful stance against the dullness of their dry and dismal surroundings.

Bleeding through boundaries as I clawed through
Every god-damned brutality to go with you
I’m alive with paradoxical morbidity
Having held you all in terminal lucidity

Is it Love or an addiction
Sometimes it hurts and I miss him
Deep inside there’s a conviction
That he’s part of my mission

Note to self:

Nowhere to land

Take my hand

You will understand