The skin I live breaks and gets torn up and gets sewn again.
The parts that break are easily attached to promises that never stand still.
The parts that get torn are like words written in chalk, erasable: not permanent
and the parts that get sewn are the ones you wanted to replace but couldn't find a match.
I wish I could make you stay alive, remain; but I can't make you lie about things that you know nothing of.
Pack your bags: your ignorance and pride
delight and reason,
take the pilgrimage of your lifetime
for when you come home I shall not be waiting for the seasons to arrive.
The skin I live breaks and gets torn up and gets sewn again.
The parts that break are easily attached to promises that never stand still.
The parts that get torn are like words written in chalk, erasable: not permanent
and the parts that get sewn are the ones you wanted to replace but couldn't find a match.
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