the logical, lunar pisces:
what fickle feeling creatures humans are.
and yet, no matter how much we want, how much we don't want, how desperately we scream, shed, burn, beg, bleed, split, or fall apart, the change never comes. Be it a heart or a hall light.
we are a goddamn contradiction,
squirming away from the carefully-crafted sound of our own souring song, squeamish by the sweetness of a "so-called" hallelujah
we are a contradiction goddamnit,
spinning into the safe arms of a sinewy stranger, sighing softly into the shoulder blades of a suicidal slow dance
fickle feelings caused by fickle fucks,
fickle feelings crooned by them too
in the end,
we remain much the same-
dancing gets tiresome
hallelujah never does
foolishest of all we are, and still, by far the most clever
we are septic-starved
and hideous
cursing our own creations
blaming fallen angels
for crooked lovers,
and silly, little stars
for loving them anyways
what beautiful beasts we are
and what fickle-feeling little creatures we pretend to be
