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i gave birth to body white, collected to my thighsheld her there, between my legs, and my brought my knees up highand she slid out, i don't know (my body is not big enough)and you left your meat all in the leavesgathering sweat from the gravesand you body cistern, i brought you a sisterfrom what i holes i could not cravebut i'll go, and be brave: i only have faith in what is goodi knew a boy who built an aviaryhe gathered all the wood that he could carryi pulled from his chest to get blind from the beesand we exchanged helium because we're tired of ceilingsi found him bucked out, like a jarheadhis antlers found seaweed from an ocean bedand he carried carvings of his own geographybut had he stabbed his own eyes out, so he couldn't seei said: 'i don't want to be your wife,i couldn't stand to do this my whole lifemy breast milk is heavy, and you don't havethe strength to help me with this baby.'and when we pull out of each otheri ask you if you can tug me offyou can me if i can put you outlike: 'what fire' and 'drag the shit from each other''all the fluids from your mother'i can barely stand in your lake disease againwith your vomit up to my waistand in the hospital they ask me if i know where your parts gobut i tell them your body isn't made from skin they know From Letras Mania