I have spread myself upon you,
And I want the parts of me I have released to come back
To make me feel whole

They say some people just click
But how do we unclick?

Do we grow so big, we break the interlocked piece that's connected to us?
Or do we shrink and let that piece go and click with another?

Why don't we just stay interlocked, unwavering and fastened together?

Lovers are so lost, stupid within their silliness.
All these children,
Boys, girls, the lost and desperate, they come searching for my heart.
But the once thing they don't realize?
I was born with a revolver.

The reach into my chest,
Gently pull it forth,
Unaware of all the stings they pull along the way.
They click and unclick, switch, twist,
Unaware of the restlessness,
The poison kiss,
Hidden amoung my metals.

They think I'm simple,
Quiet,
Kind.
They see a mask, forever blind.

Here I am...

I'm climbing the mountain once again...
For what?


This is not the first time, will it be the last?

I'm getting tired of holding on..

The air is getting thinner as I climb higher

And where does this journey take me?

The crest of the mountain, just to turn around, and climb down again... nothing has changed, it never does, so what is the point?

My last lifeline is the rope holding me close to the mountain surrounding me...

I unclick the lock, letting the rope fall freely to the ground below

My hands still holding on to the protruding rocks on the side of the mountain

I'm done holding on...

I'm done climbing...

But the mountain will grieve
He will miss me...

He seems to want me to continue climbing the jagged surface, just like he needs the elk standing at it's peak, he'll cry a landslide....

I hear a whisper in the breeze calling from the mountain,

Hang on....

I want to unbutton myself

tick-tick-tick

I want to unzip my mind
And unclick the years
That have settled into memories
Because I love the way you change these things

I want to show you it all
It's self-indulgent, I know
My words turn to clutter
I haven't gotten any older, have I?

Make-up tackle-box
Not making this **** up
Cosmetic kit

No lures, no sinkers
No hooks just
Ben Nye! What a guy!

Then “shick, stchik”
Drawers unclick
Trays slide

Revealing everyone I could be:
Foundation flirt first
Then the highlight/shadow trick

Older, younger
Darker, greyer
Maybe a mustache?

Shriveled clown nose
Glommed with spirit ***
Next to Fauder’s White

Once for performing
Now more for norming
Painting skin again

Base, highlight
Shadow cracks
Older/younger begins

But this is cosmetic:
Covering the skin sin
A new day begins