i go solo so i can go  loco

fleur-de-lis, why are you sad?

I know how hard it is to walk against the pre-programmed self-sabotage,  I know of the pummeling port inside

misconception— red skies, blood cotton

can you hear them talking?  regurgitating words from years a thousand lapsed

i was standing on the gates of a Cretan maze

My friend, you don't need to be petite

you're being pulled into quicksand the walls consume you, but there are no ropes around

stop going so fast you're gonna burn out