All artists know that
every form of art is reminiscent of a time, a place, and a memory
that is held deeply in our hearts, and it is easier to share it
with the world
than it is to relive the moment it was created

You make love to me with the lights on
So I’m forced to face my own weird fleshy cage
But now it doesn’t feel like that
My body is no longer the asylum I can’t check out of
My body finally feels like that temple everyone talks about
And my God, do I want to be worshipped