Return, return, return.
Withdrawal & rebellion.
Controversy in a pill box.
Thirty three count.
Would you ration out my death please, put me in bed, please, dream with me in paralysis while holding my hand?
I don’t want anything forced.
But the flow between us,
give and take and pulse and throttle;
knowing you might sing tomorrow,
heeding vocal trends and extrapolating the data.
These are my vortices;