The Liminalist

Root of the sore
The naughtening word
You’ve tied their warning
Around your head
The rest you got
The rest you got
Was barely enough
To bring your heart to stop
You cannot bring
Any one thing
That isn't draping off your body
Every pocket and case
Lost in the shape domain

Root of the sore
The naughtening world
Don't you see
My very valid reasons

Come inside