Holding my heart in,
small pond sweet suffering,
Pain like the last name tied like a rock round my neck.

Late night research,
short trite answers in webs.
Forming my own myths on human hypothesis, from demi-Gods nobodies know. 

Love for the dying, breathing in secret
deep under water, tread lonely laugh lightly, right over my head like the rest.
Because his master plan won’t fit inside my hands, I will wash off the blood that was shed. And if his master plan still won’t fit inside this head I will sing to myself in your stead.