snippets of speech

a moment's sanctuary,
built up in forest,
or hell-cave orifice,
dripping holy water from the ceiling of collected syncopation time,
we're a drop in the bucket,
a group of heat motion atoms,
waiting to explode from the internal pressure cooker of things we can't let go,
still think we're being chased by ghosts,
still think we've got a heart that keeps getting broke,
but the ones who know,
they whisper flash pan epiphany wisdom into your ear,
and tell you things like:
hearts don't break down,
they break open,
into an ocean of growth plates,
that rain is nothing but liquid sunshine,
that it's perfectly fine to be considered crazy,
that you can build your own reason to exist,
and that you should