My anxiety branches out from meIt grows out into armsInto long wooden arms
They grow leaves and sprout flowers, The fruit falls not long after, to grow into a whole garden... No a forest...
You pound yourself to dustPiece by piece you take yourself apartYou blow into smoke;
All that remains are scattered cluesHow do you then expect them to put you together?
From tinted shadesThrough blinding rays We are all the same
The thrusting invaderor the moaning wellsAre you the seed?I am the eggWe both wombedIn fact, we are the same.