This is a poem written to Sophie of past. It doesn't disclose everything I would like to uncover; that'll take a few more pages. Here I detail the subtle shifts in experiences that are to come for yung $tunna Sophie. The promise of shifts is infinite upon aging and learning. For me, it took friendship, time, and curiosity to foster a lil baby flame amongst the utter darkness and ignorance I lived in. Although the ignorance is still present, it's somewhat acknowledged and much more endurable.

Light will pass through porous bone,

Forming gold threads from skull to sight.

With this, traces of lucidity will surface,

Hinting at a golden fleece defined by peace of mind.

Temporary moments of laxity, pure and unrestrained, will gently permeate your bones,

Heedlessly guiding your movements, disentangling your thoughts,

Soaking both and transforming them from steel to silk.

With this, you will breathe in beautifully fleeting euphoria,

And exhale an explicit intention.

One that will rip at the seams of your tightly sewn bond with past’s demons

And hurl you into the your present time and space.

Clothed in liquid fabric,

You will be able to dance upon existence,

To the silent melodies of the sublime.

Your stomach will lose the cramps

From being tightly bound by your own contortion.

With this, the craved porcelain, hour-glassed, fuck-doll nightmare

Remains the night’s past, instead of dawn’s wakeful keep.

The scraping at attention’s flesh is still habit,

But the wounds are starting to scab.

Instead of sweet, red syrup,

Insufficient funds will ooze.

With this, you’ll find a world within yourself;

The promise of endogeny made sweetness and flauntless intrigue.

New company will unknowingly teach freedom.

With this, take what is offered but do not wrench with greed.

For the nutrients are in the temporary play,

The steps and the words,

The touch and their way.

But beware, for the trigger is always cocked,

And the misfire usually lands on the lesson.

Mutilating its delicately spread lips,

And morphing it into a grisly, shadowed cunt of over-analysis.

The only advice I have thus far for this is to breathe; although thus far,

Seems worthless.

But speaking of lips,

Yours will find harmony.

With this, the iced heat within your fists will lay rest,

And the once brittle corpse will finally melt.