I erupt, in words, in screams,
in poetry from books you have never seen.
I know of artists who paint with gold,
who paint with blood,
who paint to know what its like to never feel old.
And in their work, their pain, their strokes,
they are serene.
I release myself in song,
and with my eyes I can search your entire essence.
I can make sovereigns renounce kingdoms...
Halls of gold...
I can create heaven from a ball of string.
The taste of my lips may taste obscene,
but with the whole of my spirit I am wholly chaste.