Best under the effects of Animal Collective

Inside there's something that hurts. It's not a knife; it's not a fire or a dog biting. It's something like a void that swallows up everything that might just start. Inside of me there's nothing but soil that has no use.

No green will grow, no birds will sing or cheep or dance or nest. However, I'm not dead inside, as you might think. There's not exact term for my state. I could try posting a prefix in every single action, place, name, feeling or face. Especially when it comes to faces, actions and feelings, the unsustainable growth shows at its best.

Play the piano for me tonight.

Play me like the piano, but don't stop playing when the sheet's over. When the blacks and whites don't seem real and we're us. Play us like the little black keys that nobody knows what they're for and yet, they love.

Now shake your head and shake me out.

I love snowice. Yes. It's the perfect combination. You will no longer have a practical name for all instances. It's more convenient and elastical. For me, not for you. You might even find this action offensive, since I'm removing all identity from you. Now the presence ends up in a clay mask. May you wear it, but I will not.

Listen to the birds tweeting.

I'm pretending to be outside feeling the rain under my skirt. My stockings get wet slowly by the drops that bounce on the sidewalk. they are mortals willing to jump to the pit full of dragons and snakes. Princesses with no hair extensions that sets them apart from prince charming.

Stop.

Lay on the grass. The scene of murder is still on every leave and plant. While we get wet, you hold my hand and slowly capture the movement of the stars. Like a picture with long exposure, there will be nothing but printed paper.

Stop.