I think i'm about to fall down back to where my grandma couldn’t smother my father into something holylingly still and uptight
except I won't be deemed as possessed when the brintellix finally runs out
I'll be just some boy
high on oxygen
sunbathing
shopping for images
rayographing stills in my mind
to turn into stew of the prefix of Artemis
or at least I like to think I do that
because one day i’d like to never have to cook/dilute my life into a manuscript, a canvas, or some part of my body
it not as deep as they make it seem
there's nothing to make out of the mundane
excеpt when it's time to try to keep my body afloat
from it nevеr having to go deep down to the root of where my grandma couldn't smother my father to sfather me into something holylingly still and uptight
because when the brintellix runs out
it'll be nothing but you
keeping me afloat
like you have always,
my only god
the only lover i've ever had