The Mole Spoke About It

You are not dead
Those lies on your hands
Are written on rough paper

The quintessential, unrequited
Longing for black hair blue eyes
Was always there

Tell the butterflies to STOP
The lining of your stomach is raw
But...Bleed now

Stare at the ceiling
For some time the answers were written there
Just needed the magical elixir or
Just need to quit being scared

Take their word for it
No, no more elixir
You've had enough
The gold is awaiting your arrival