Bubble, my little tendrils of hysteria.

Bloom and crawl, Withdraw

Down my inner arm.

Coupons for freedom and other irredemable promises of hope,

You tickle the soul that is not there,

You reawaken the wings I cannot

(Will not?) Stretch.

For Gods! For dieties once perserves

By shining fruit, by the tree with life,

Bubbling hysterically at the roots.

For gods!

Fulfil your own potential, awaken my


And chill the desires you so thoughtlessly bestow,

As careless as Passionflower vines

Growing wild and unleashing butterflies

Up my inner arm.