The answers were never imbedded in
We collect pieces of each other
And claim them for ourselves
Settling our needs into boxes
That soothe our incompleteness
Who am I but quasi-existent
A form of something waiting to be whole
I wish to live and die in the same moment
Reach heaven and rest on earth
What do you think at night
What do you forget when you talk to me
Your crafted words are pretty
But what is the tar under your tongue
The tinge in your silence
Pigmented with longing
Stained with blood