Part I: Black Tide

Silk-screenedmasquerading
self impression of you
change it again
it's like I'm asphyxiated by the false reception of you
change it again
your eyes
cauterizing and your eyes
are lost in the glare
and i know you'll never care

this tempest resides in boxed screens and magnetic waves

can we break away and embrace our miscarriage? will we surrender now to a paradigm of formality and
sitback, concede, it owns you
opaque, to you its all clear and I know the tides will find a way