Suffice and surface, i'm not sure what it meant
to know that i had to get to the bottom where broken meets bent.
and form is not of substance, nor is glue stuck to a page
while all is slept amongst the others before the coming of their age.
i will not, shall not, cannot witness the preparation for the end
because i left you with the notion that i would not begin to beg.
but you left me with all that i knew around the edges of my face
and i can not begin to explain the ash that licks against the base.
so give me the time to tell you that it's wrong to feel so gone,
like you're swimming through the purple, you felt red for so long.
the violet fills my lungs deep and i become short of breath
as you lay me down in crickets that lavish in my steps.
and i lay my feet down in strawberry fields, plotting out my grave
feeling as if i know not what it's like to be the one who's saved.