I'm a woman of subtle grievance.
It doesn't hurt my body none
but the spirit is dragging.
"Why me?" I ask, "to see all the shits?"
And be unhappy like I'm the one and only.
Well, well, maybe the reason's obvious
but the courage is lacking or
it's the little things like timing.
Someday I may decide
there are memories worth having,
and pain & joy are one and the same.

Black sun.

In my mind, I'm a rich white man
cruising around not giving a damn.
In my mind, in my mind.

In my spirit, I'm an old witch
burning fat candles for kins' woes.
In my spirit, in my spirit.

In my soul, I'm a lost child
nothing to look for & nowhere to go.
In my soul, in my soul.

In my eyes, the black sun burns bright
I know I can't fight, I look to you instead.
In my eyes, in my eyes.

Little worm.

The worm in me like fragile broken things-
ruins that are permanent with death
where everything happened & done with.
The little worm whispers & squirms.

A seed conceived by despair & lust-
in bed with red mist of mosquitos
spreading decay of doubt & fear,
eating away at the core.

Happy little worm.