Part 1:
The air in my lungs is freezing.
Teasing you never feels all that playful.
These wicked trees are weeping.
There's nothing left to leave on the table.
There's no place to be misunderstood--
you and I know its time to return to the wood.
My body's the only thing between me and becoming you--
cyclic, falling drops of patternistic monsters.
I'm a monster.
Part 2:
I am a monster.
I am a monster.
(Have you ever experienced loss at the hands of a person whose fingers most resemble claws?)
I am a monster.
(Dug down deep in your thoughts, plucking at sinews with synapses firing off.)
Are you a monster too?
(Worn down from the battles you've fought with the beast that's living, breathing in the feelings you've wrought.)
A monster too?
(Disappointed, derelict and distraught. False equivalences drawn between what's real and what's not.)
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