Who knew
That this [?] withdrawal I thought would accompany the savouring of myself from your intoxicity
Would actually be a host of butterflies

I’m harnessing this age dysmorphic essence which is blooming in the fertile ash of the home I soaked with blood and sweat

These butterflies are relentless
Lifting me weightless
Lifting me weightless
Lifting me, lifting me
Lifting me, lifting me
Lifting me, lifting me