The city air was humid
and sticky like fly paper
and I was drowning
in water when you grabbed
my hand, our fingers
cob webbed together, the
nails piercing the misty appearance
violently – it's love,
it's not enough,
I need you scared
that I'm dying;
pull me from the sea,
my internal New Orleans,
my Riddex feet in your hands,
bitter stones thrown sharply
into your shoulders, scarring your
skin and leaving it
sunken beneath me.

So, I'm CEO of
Vital and Co.,
I've reached Go and
returned the cash, more
recumbent than I can
ever recall, pushing surgical nails
through my veins violently,
urging for a high
and higher
position because
it's not enough,
I need you scared
that you're dying.

So, I put a nail gun
to the planet and cob webbed
it useless, pumped it
full of tetanus and
provided evidence that I'm the Messiah.

It's not enough,
it's never enough,
I can't find it in me
to even try to want
to be alive because
it's never enough.

So, I'm God
and it's not enough.
That's mine,
this is mine,
you're mine,
it's not enough,
it's never, ever enough.