I really don't care
what a freak you may be
or what you’re capable of in bed.
I'm not out to prove
How wild I am
Or how powerful.
All that shit is for the birds.
Flocks and flocks of birds.
Flocks and flocks of flocks and flocks and flocks of...
That's not the way to my heart.
That fizzles out in ten seconds.
That will come soon enough
and no effort.
There's so much more of yourself to see.
I wanna see the part of you that's soft.
I wanna sift through all the programs and
and peel away your layers until I get
to the soft part.
The part of you that wants to shy away
that turns pulsing red when seen
if not approached
But that secretly and deeply wishes
to be seen
gradually, delicately, and reverently.
And I can see you
And I call upon you
That's the part of you I'm after.
That's the part of you that has amnesia.
That's the part of you that
The part of you that never stores
The part of you that can never find a way to
The part that
Here, you can be felt and seen,
but never lost.
Not unaffected, but just so
and secure. The part that knows it is
Our vulnerability will be devoured in the
reflections of ten
In this place, "you" stop being,
"I" stop being.
All there is to do is remember creation.
To create each other,
to forget the idea,
Finally penetrating into the heart of the moment,
so deep beyond the dried out,
the bleeding veins.
You don't even comprehend what
You maybe never even felt yourself
Because you thought it would feel
Now you're here,
and instead you are surprised that you feel
like a child.
You realize there is nothing to prove.
You can be experienced without
You feel so perfect.
The blockiness of time disintegrates
into the high-out-of-your-mind
Be not worried
Be not worried
turning out or
being turned out,
when ego interplay
and will make way for the actual meaning
of the word:
And I promise,
it's nothing like what you think.
Come away. Let go of yourself.
All that other shit is for the birds.
Allow your layers to be peeled away,
beautiful onion that you are,
to the freshest most untouched