I am make it

Make it stop. Twisting it shard pores mingle into the driest muck of his dermis. Make it work. Blend the sea glass move closer into the earth. Make it move. Mortality can never shiver as much when in hands of your mold. Make it hurt. Draw it in and pour it over into my darkest hope. Make it tear. Founded on a weave of delicate lines of your inner dome. Make it sing. Yards of cold glossed over tinkering gold. Make it glide. Over your displaced terrain of wounds try landing steady. Make it open. Turning over ears done hot jarring known dust. Make it heal. Hide it into layers of silk and close up these cracks on the walls Dearest you love cling to cloud forecast me into the unknown. Make it to me. Make it up to me. Make it make love to me. Just make it find us once more.

Unless all the winds decided to direct their rage straight into these walls of my self loathing soul, I would not move even a little inch. But more than that more than all the defined realities I call home try to see that in the end what matters more than anything else is if you want winds to come do what has to be done willingly on your own. I can’t be a storm. I can’t even breathe when things mount themselves onto my sense of duty. Don’t push me. Don’t tangle me into your pits. I know what your asking seems easy to give but to the naked eye it’s all red entrapment. Try to reach. Cause a standby and an orchestrate wont be.