once, long ago,

the unbloomed seeds of

my unblossomed joy

had fallen into the abyss.

but now, i was free-

and my heart was not a void,

but a mountain.

(but mountains are cold)

bitter ambrosia dripped

from my daisied-soul,

as my arched back

rained debris upon those

who had used me.

(like a crumbling colosseum)

and oh, finally!

my ephemeral eyes

no longer echoed

with hollow synthwave

but instead with symphonies

and dream pop

(yet i could never forget tangerine dream)