Still seeking mercy.. Layers of future mud on boots.. Where is my keenness?
There are these times that come with their own click track.
This is a Manhattan-bound N train.. I’m subject to my own random search.
Sometimes we just want to get fucked, and we’re surprised when the “over” shoe drops.
But it’ll never heal when you keep rubbing it.
I don’t want to use myself as an excuse to do the same thing I’ve always done.
Do i want pity or change?

Claws like nails, a chalkboard like a stop sign, a billboard like a repetition.

And the fates are just at the edge of consciousness – what do you see, women?
Fire! Do you encourage? Do you feel sorry for me?
If I can imagine it, I can put life in it, and whether it breathes or not, I can show it – this
Fire! yet-unborn – and say though it’s not alive, it is here.
Abortions are difficult.
Sometimes I incubate a stillborn, rubbing it to get it warm – I can make it move!
Fire! While the fates stand by.. Do you feel sorry for me?. Stand by.
If I keep moving I can keep the stone from rolling over me, blocking my way, I can keep
Fire! the fire from burning me up.
In truth, I may not be a phoenix.. I may be a fluke.
What is the line between brilliance and black hole despair?. Is there one?

Tossed around in cycles, if I wind up at just the right place the tides will take me forward.
I wanted change before it was fashionable.
Hometown, let me redeem you!
Father, let me hold you in high esteem!
Mother, let me rescue you!
Brother, let me rescue you!
As long as my vision is narrow, I don’t feel insignificant…just unimportant.
What sort of ego does someone have when they have something to prove?

Grafitti everywhere, overwriting the undersigned.

I love you, city, something deep and dark and beautiful and usual.
Every step is a piece of pillow talk, how I wish I could hold you in my arms, kiss the glass and gravel and tell you I wish I were a city too.