a voice borne of everything but light;
you are the impetus to my fragmenting:
whimsical in nature, limited only by the
all the saccharine things i've written –
so you have plenty of kindling, and still,
i only worry of you. what happens when
you burn out? what comes of the verses
you once found home in? have you inked
a final will, or have you no interest in the
physical world that will remain when you
enter the spiritual realm? were you meant
to burn this brightly and for this long? i
only ask because you are a voice borne -
