Delicate patterns... Your wake is ever-growing: Butterfly effect.
The universe dreams, Breathes, feels, loves, dies, self… Through both me and you.
Bittersweet I feel, And I find it difficult To know how to be.
Yeah, I’m a puzzle. Know I’ll never be finished; The last piece is yours.
I’m a prisoner To this world’s fleeting beauty, And I’m on death row.
