its in your hands

the time to begin

is always in the plans

looking for a good reason to die

i make these letters for

the parts of you that still want

to be free

when the ice age hits

itll be you that suffers

and not me

with the commentary on

the collaboration

of martyrs

to hinder your insight

and sloppy your instincts

an intoxicating drink it must

be the thunder in a glass

and the grass on the hill

filling your plates and luck

with the most sumptuous of acquisitions

ryme makes a good pilot

and blame the

infamous kiss atop another

playground

.

is this the

likenes that you thrived

on

me and the men

an undecidied quiet

to trip on

like a python for

qustions and the night

to realize in measures

fully bloomed

forgetting me must be

so easy

fortunate to

follow through

meet me at the altar

confidence convienient

in the soul and slumber

in order to wake the

incidental axis of conspiracy

and flame,

the blood that takes hold

the magic that takes the blame

.

giving up is only making good

i should see you through

to your grave

sounding of into the distance

a missle

so to speak

another laughing day

to see the smile on your face

the only way

what i would have done for

you would have made you

my hand, swallowed by the sunset

follwing my plans

.

when you wisper in my ear

somber resort

just one more year

candles

and dancing like the

periferally arrogant decisions

i know your beautifully enough

to have been