it's too late to say don't touch the paintings, please

it's an under-the-duvet kind of day thanks to you, dear m. 
there's no explanation for the amount of confusion you shoved into me. 

i was only very small, after all. and then i was bigger. and further bigger
and no less confused. 

one eye sees the trees, one eye sees cement. i wear a prism now. wish there were one for my brain,
the parasite you let crawl into my ear once 

it eats synapses. it sucks up blood. 
fat leech in my brain. 

it shits confusion. 

your own perspective is inside out so i suppose
i really shouldn't be surprised
and his, so insular

oh, together you're quite a pair.

it's enough to spin a brain to chaos. 
should've stuck with the trepanning and let the brain drip out my nose
and have done with it. sent me on my way with the Book of the Dead
and my heart in a jar,
my guts in another. 

let me die in the desert, oh please, oh please
i want to see the sky and the sand
each eye surprised at different types of brightness

i've never known here under your swirling, muddled meddled tar pitched world