People resist being pried,
even if it’s from their aching ignorance,
but no one can think their way out of loneliness,
though I could miss myself all the way to you.
The ridges of fingerprints
touch of velvet and Prussian blue,
gently and slow from the smallest courage
overcoming fear by one strummed spider’s silk.
The road to hell
paved with those warning me.
“That’s too much work” “They deserve better” and “Money is Love”
But my inner child walks with the lightbringer unafraid.
I want remarkable, and deserve deepness
I desire a dark and twisted tree
with knots to put my timeless trinkets
and branches full of lovely hoodoo spells.