stranger, there is one who would break you
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, here is the deepest secret nobody knows. Life is short, though I keep this from my children. and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant is at least half terrible, and for every kind and whatever a sun will always sing is you I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud walking you through a real shithole, chirps on my heart)i am never without it(anywhere sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear about good bones: This place could be beautiful, no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want estimate, though I keep this from my children i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, right? You could make this place beautiful. i carry your heart with me(i carry it in a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
— Adam Powers