1. |
Oh, Grace
04:43
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I don't want to talk anymore, to you, but I hope you're well: and not at the bottom of elsewhere and always. Chin above water, still learning to float: but hoping to fly. Hundreds of tiny people screaming across an ocean hoping it will part. Some wounds are just wounds, and they never get healed. Some wounds are just doomed and they never reveal. The blood underneath and what it really means to be human.
But you deserve all the grace, oh my fucking god.
I am the textbook definition of a mineral, but I am not the diagram drawn of a supply schedule. The wild chaos does whatever it wants just for you, whether or not you asked it to: the little spirit is it real, or truth?
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2. |
Losing Fowl
07:06
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They don't want to be your children, you've been casting quite a shadow: taking credit for the birthing, but no canals were ever crossed. Heart temperatures have always risen: things are good until they're not being good, and then they become bad until they wither wither.
No one warns you when your stepping off the path of no return. They coward caw off from the distance, now that you have been blacklisted through the door. Now join the others: dead from lack of light exposure, never knowing that the sun we worship is not the only one.
Did you know? You have somewhere else to go. It might seem quite sad, but soon your tomb will read: "This one did not go down without a fight. It took hundreds, it took thousands. And even then, they laughed.
Legacy's a tricky subject: do you want a son or daughter? I'll erase instead my history, and evaporate the blood I cried today. I'll turn back the scratchy record, vinyl filled with sorrow hymns that sung the songs of ancient faiths. My narrative is never only pain!
I have searched for hills to die on, standing defiant all day long. But I've found a short mountain and placed my cottage well along the walk. I may need vengeful spirits if I ever want to succeed, but heroes paths are far behind me: I am content to finally take a seat.
Do I need to take my name with me when I go?
If I do, if I want to, I will.
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3. |
Little Devout
03:59
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I screech symphony at the cacophony lift, hundreds mourn the concrete warning. Rattle free of this vocal regard: Questions scatter among silent branches. Disperse awareness: a perception predator! Dart your chatter! Dart your chances, my terrain cousins! Don’t make a noise, clean off your dry rot: Take one last conducted shot. Don't make a noise, clean off your dry rot: Take one last conductive shot.
Drain the sky in a fixed restriction: sway in this direction, a coagulated bliss. Blades of glass fill this answer flight, your side eyed contempt: Lock it away. Relaxed regalia calls for a single kind of hate, but harmonious descent calls for holy rest. Don’t make a noise, clean off your dry rot: Take one last conducted shot. Don't make a noise, clean off your dry rot: Take one last conductive shot.
Praying blades make seven sturdy meadow collectors living in snarl houses. Eight claws surround the little devout, "Hide your pentacles", "Hide your doubt",
"Bush Sage Elm Coat, Shape Shifting Wool".
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4. |
The Shade
04:23
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Here comes the boy with the butterfly wings, here to investigate the mysterious things happening to each and every one of us as we bring death closer to our own doors. The boy with butterfly wings grows up to be a man, who is hung up by his heels because no one understands him when he says, “You don’t gotta live like this, please listen, I’ve got a plan.”
And the plan is: Stop loving what don’t love you, and don’t squeeze love out where it’s not. Don’t seek winter where it’s hot, don’t seek sunlight when the sun is blotted out. They fired arrows into clouds, cause the people who make their bread there need the shade.
Water is wet: it’s a truth we forget. A fact that is true but not always obvious, until the sky cracks open. So does the regret that we didn’t bring jackets this time. Sometimes I dream it’s raining even when it isn’t, because sometimes it’s so hard to just be forgiven when a big old face is staring at me from inside my brain, saying: “I gotta give up”.
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R.U.U.N.E. Portland, Oregon
multi genre performer who is just trying their best <3
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