Down;
Down are the words I use
to fill my heart
A blade of grass cut to last
Torn apart - sort the mess

Up;
Up is what I tell myself
when mourning starts
A worm contrast the bird can't grasp
Paramount - my up is down

Stick around; enjoy the sounds
Turnaround; my up is down
Stick around; enjoy the sounds
Turnaround; my up is down

Extinction of fruit,
but I taste grapes on her lips.

She asked me
what I did for a living
I told her I was a surgeon
She asked me which kind
I told her I open up hearts
She smiled a white lie
then followed with a sigh
I don't think she realizes
that I meant I was writer

I'm on the outskirts of hope looking in;
my hand strangling the head of a lantern.
Liquid wax bubbles into descent.
Midnight rain in 1782 Blackburn.
The breath of a behemoth breaks wind.
It reaches past distance and into my skin.