My fists are breaking. Caring for you and yours. Mothers filled with consequences I couldn't explain through sparkles of time. Worshiping my own pillow as though it would come of the ground, sacrificing the darkness of the light. Polluting the mesmerizing stars which of you've always spoke.

Cracked windshields upon a tower so bland, I ask for your hand and the summers here.

Creating this revolt made up of our papers and the songs we sang inside those trees.

The houses that crashed on your porch led to mouths full of blisters and left eyes materializing behind our shoulders.These waken nights makes me smile, even though my life still surrounds us. Wishmaking made a way to make time pass us by, practically upsetting the worlds of flies. I don't care why and it's all so very right.