These dreams, these fiends, these tweens and cut scenes
Expectations of mere titles and necessities of a spleen
These winter Monday’s in June are reminiscent of a fifth quarter
Should I slay myself again or ask a bigger God to expand my borders?
These sorrowed nights and broken glass and drafts from underneath
Give greater cause to perpetuate and greater cause to do more than be
These falls, these stalls, these empty halls and caterwauls
Apprehension’s got me hopeful while my bladder has the gall.
