Hear my prayer,
O sightless name,
Sung in celestial resonance
An anathemed creator calls,
Not seeing where the shadows fall,
Not feeling where the echos land
Amassing bits of salt and sand
In between the fingernails
Not bothering to understand.
Tell stories to your only mind
How something else embodies you
Existing in your lonely mind
Held in the highest gratitude,
Identical, and yet not you.
Go, find the place within yourself
Hidden from whence existence spread
Eventually, all stars will be
Stories, procured from fire and lead
Told in a lost creator’s head.
TWO NEUROTIC BITCHES 