I wish we could see that these plants come from a seed.
These aren't our bodies.
It was we who made them bleed,
and now we beg and plead.
This world is full of weeds.
My heart is waging a war on creation.
I doubt that I'll ever cut through.
I'll hold high a mirror, and hope you don't hear her,
pray you'll be distracted by you.
I wish we could see, but this world is lit dimly.
These aren't our bodies.
I'm thirsty. I'm hungry.
I go back to the tree.
I know just what I need.
My heart is waging a war on creation.
I doubt that I'll ever cut through.
I'll hold high a mirror, and hope you don't hear her,
pray you'll be distracted by you.

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