EMPTY PLAINS ECHO WITH EMPTY SCREAMS

I want a man that believes in life the way that my mirror tells me I'm alive.
Whose disposition observes beyond superficial reality.
Burning anxiety boiling,
melting away perceptions of grandeur.
Taste buds activating,
bitter and potent air that fogs the scenery.
With limited observation, clouded by stained glass eyes.

Hands like eagle wings.
Fingers like rusted gears.
Palms with no life lines.
Smooth arms that constrict.
That which stretch across the cosmos.
They cannot grasp with intentions of comfort.
They cannot grasp with intentions of comfort.
They cannot grasp with intentions of comfort.

Dance with me,
as if your body moves with the universe.
Bleed with me,
as if your blood swarms a dried up tributary.
Laugh me with,
as if they are chants to summon the jackals of chaos.


Until this planet becomes numb.
I'll remain an arrow,
waiting for it's release.
Targeted at a creature
that does not exist.