Spiracle

I want the parts of you that you only show
To the corner of your bathroom mirror
I want the parts of your hand grenade heart
That beat slowly with anger and fear
I want the parts of you that you only show
To the birds outside your bedroom window
I want the teeth that you lost as a child
That you hide in a box under your pillow
I want your quiet your screaming and thrashing
The salt on your lips and the hands that god gave you and
I want your violence your silent sedation
Your moon eyes your telescope morbid fixation and
I want your pyro your born-again virgin
Your hands on my insides your fingertips crawling in
I want your Jesus your suicide mission
Your lips on the microphone soft disposition
I want your parties the shark in your water
The scrapes on your knees and the blood that spills over
And I want your zeroes your polluted marrow
The sweat on your palms and the surveillance shadow
I want your secrets your clementine fields
The ropes that you climb up the parts that don't heal
I want your safe word your passive resistance
The sickness you foster your favourite addictions
I want your nightmares the ghost in your doorway
Your paralyzed sleep and your
I want you butterfly I want you sailor
I am your lover and I am your jailor