Self We were born from each other's womb, and were soaking wet in the expectations they baptized upon this crimson skin, They named us after angels and saints, their prayers embedded upon each letter of our names, But it is impossible to control a machine with strings, or a puppet with oil, because A soul made their choices, and will not have their choices made.

Two There was a time when we saw things as they are, nothing more or less, Like my cup of tea, and our pouring milk, and your orbs of abyss, But sight is nothing but a tool, it is sense that we sought, So we tried to write a story out of the leaves and icicles, flowers and fire, We gained visions and thought that this path is ours, Knowledge was a cheap thrill, and comprehension was our drill In sculpting the hard piece of mind we hated and despised, Because We were too proud and thought that we could play As god in our own tale.

Respiration Please, please let me fly inside your throat, through your bronchi, and then I shall surrender into the tangling webs of your alveoli, and fill your every breath with my presence.

Runaways Reckless children we were, Our delusory eyes tracing the non-existent bond, And we claimed out loud, that we posses the knowledge on what is right or wrong, our heads high beyond the clouds, Until we realized that today Comes the storm they warned us about, when we left the shore.