Like a virus needs a body and soft tissue feeds on blood, some day I’ll find you, the urge is here. Like a mushroom on a tree trunk as the protein transmutates, I knock on your skin, and I am in. The perfect match, you and me, I adapt, contagious. You open up, saying welcome. Like a flame that seeks explosives as gunpowder needs a war, I feast inside you, my host is you. The perfect match, you and I, you fail to resist my crystalline charm, you do. Like a virus, patient hunter, I’m waiting for you, I’m starving for you. My sweet adversary.

Get over that sorrow, girl. The world is always going to be made of this, you can trust in it unless you breathe in bravely. I adore how you simply surrender too high. And your lungs, they’re mourning TB style. All the still-born love that could’ve happened, all the moments you should have embraced, all the moments you should have not locked up. Understand so clearly, to shut yourself up would be the hugest crime of them all. You’re just crying after all… to not want them humans around anymore. Get over that sorrow, girl.