I Think I Made You Up Inside

If You Dissect A Bird / To Diagram The Tongue, / You'll Cut The Chord / Articulating Song.

At Twenty I Tried To Die And Get Back, Back, Back To You. I Thought Even The Bones Would Do.

Why The Hell Are We Conditioned Into The Smooth Strawberry-and-cream Mother-goose-world, Alice-in-wonderland Fable, Only To Be Broken On The Wheel As We Grow Older And Become Aware Of Ourselves As Individuals With A Dull Responsibility In Life?

Not Easy To State The Change You Made. If I'm Alive Now, I Was Dead, Though, Like A Stone, Unbothered By It.

I Felt My Lungs Inflate With The Onrush Of Scenery—air, Mountains, Trees, People. I Thought, "this Is What It Is To Be Happy.