₲ⱠØⱤɎ

the way you l̸̵̸̡̟̯͍̙̜̠̰̩̘͔ͦ̔̂ͯ̑ͦ̐͗̓̈́̄̑̃́̍̈̆͋̅͘͠͡͡o̧̎̔ͣ̂ͧ͟͠_̧̡͔̣̞̉ͫ́̀̓ͣ͋̅͒͐̾͆͑v̷̧̮̯͕̩̪͔̬͛̍̈̈̽ͥ̇ͣͥ͜͠ę̷̷̷̛̫̰̙͎̮͉̥͍̭͚̦̫̌̌̿̈́́̏̑̒̾̓ͣ̐̂͒̾ͯ̒̊͌̕͜͡_ͥ̔ m̡͐e̢͕̪͚̱̞̘̾̎͐̔̿̄͢_̸̶̨̡̤̻̻̫ͥͨͫͭͥ̒̈̍̐ͭ͌ͯ̚͟͢͠

like a d̞̪̱̗͎͆ͩͨ̃̌ͩ̃̐̋̔̈̀͛͝ë̸̴̷̺̞͙̜̖̺̥̥́̽͗̋̀ͪ̃̇̓̇͠ͅv̮̦͎ͫ́̀͐͑̕͜o̷̢̺͙̙̻̱̬̹̭̿ͯ̂́͊͗ͮ̒ͮ̓̐̓̽̆ͩͨ͡͝te̢̡̨̩͓̞̱̜̮̘̰͈̩̽́ͤͪ͠e̵̸̜̭͙̘̰͔͓͎̪̝̙̭͊ͯ̓̏͘͘͝͠͠͝ calls symphonies

from the dark like epiphanies and

hark the herald angels did sing

but did they sing glory to the k̷̡̛͉̤̱̪̦̯̜̻ͦ̋ͦͭ̎̉̉ͯ̃ͧͣ͒̚͘̚͡i̳̘̰̗͘ņ̴̧̡̛̛̛̘͇͇̮̯̦̯̜̱͕̻̻̠̏ͮ̿́̌̏ͦͮͩ̒̄ͣ̎ͫͯ͟͡͞ḡ̵̢͙̬͉̓ͥ̀̋̇̑̾_̵͛ͯͩ͡

is what I'm questioning because

if god and sinners reconciled

then why does the way you ḩ̧͚͖̬̲̤͛ͭ̆̇ͬ͌͒̾ͤ͘͜͡o̸̡̢͖͉̪̠͎ͣ͌̎̄̽́̾́̒ͧ̏ͪl̞̳̹͍̺ͬ̓̀́ͦ̇̌͡d͎̲̐͊ͦ̈͆̊͛ͮ͑͗̓̚͜ ḿ͎̮̱̗͉̼̃ͨ̊̊͑̓͘͟͞é̡̛̤̻̫̳ͥ̈́͗̾̽ͥ̉ͧ̀͊͘ with your words

tie me into tangles you make so carefully

knot after knot after knot after knot after k̶̙̠̝̝ͬ̑͜ͅn̨͕͇͉͔͊̄ͫ͐͘͢͡ͅò̳͈̜͎͎̅ͬ́̐͡͡͡t̸̸̷̵̨͎̤͇̲͍̣̖̆̐̓ͧ́̃ͭ͒ͨ̑̕͢͟͟͞_̴a̖ͧ̈́̅̓ͮ͂͂̀͘͟f̛͚͓̤̬̟̹̮͉̟͈̺̗̬͕͙͑̑͑ͯ̄̈́̈̅̌̉͋ͥ̔ͭ̍͛͂͌͟t̷̗̫̩̉ͬ́ẹ̸̛̞̠̺͈̹͖̝̬͖̮͈̣͚͉̻̬́̓̎͑ͯ̎ͪͤͫ̋̀ͮ͐͑̊ͤ͘̚r̳̺͉͍̬̳̓̍̑̃̆̄̀͜͡͡ k̶̷̡̛̻̙̮͎͚͎̣̘̗̘͐̒̓̾̌̾͋̈́̆̿͆ͫͤ̈́͟͢͞ͅn̠̺̯̝ͯ͋̽ͩͦ̄̕ơ̵͙̜̗͓͕̯̺͎͎̬̻̄ͭ̋̾̎ͣͨ͆̀͘͘͜͠t̵̴̷̶̡̙̹͉̲̱̠͍̖̬̩͖̞̥̺̪̩͎̞͍̋ͤ́ͤ̔͆̓̓̉̓̓̇̓ͥ͢͡͝͡͡-a̖ͧ̈́̅̓ͮ͂͂̀͘͟f̛͚͓̤̬̟̹̮͉̟͈̺̗̬͕͙͑̑͑ͯ̄̈́̈̅̌̉͋ͥ̔ͭ̍͛͂͌͟t̷̗̫̩̉ͬ́ẹ̸̛̞̠̺͈̹͖̝̬͖̮͈̣͚͉̻̬́̓̎͑ͯ̎ͪͤͫ̋̀ͮ͐͑̊ͤ͘̚r̳̺͉͍̬̳̓̍̑̃̆̄̀͜͡͡--

*

In those moments do you even remember me

or are you looking right through my tremors to other things,

other people like I'm a peephole to your past?

Why can't you see the way that you poison yourself

and everyone else around you when

A̢̡͇̯̠̱̰͓͈̹̭͓̘̣̯̺̩̞̜͓̓̆ͧ̑ͭ͋̐̅ͦ̏ͦ̈́͐ͬ̏͐ͩ͛ͭ̕͟͝ͅņ̷͉̮̱̳̜̙̙̺̪̘́͐̏̒̽ͣͫ͌̓̆̒͋̈̍̂͂͊̈͞͞g̶̶̷͚͉͎̹̫̦̙̞̹̬̫̘̽̽ͪ͂̾̈́͊̏ͪͨ͊ͤ̓͆͗ͮ̽͜ͅe̴̷̦̞̫̺͆ͮ̅̒ͮͬ̚ȑ̵̛̞̗̤͉̖̫̱̝͎̈́̈́͛͊ͬ̎͐̄̂͜͝ l̵̶̛̲͎̱̦̪̟̥͔̟͓̣̹̍͆̍̊̑͐̔ͣ́̃ͭͭͤ̓̔ͣͩ̃̂͐ͤ͘͡͞ị̴̸̡̡̛̮̠̱̤̭͉͕̜̥̝͚̱̙ͪ́̌̈́̓͊͐ͮ̒͂̀͂̑̾͐̿̽̒̌̑ͧ͘͘͢͞͠͞ͅk̗̫̻͔̮͈͇̲͔̒́̑̓̌͟͠ȩ̨̥̻̳͇̭́͒ͥ̋͆͛ͨ̄́̄̿͘͘͟_̱͙̙̳̟̾ͩ́̋͞ m̵̵̴̷̨̺̟͖͖̰̜̺̙̩̹̘͓̭̋ͬ̀ͪ͐̏̂͆ͮ͐ͥ̍̉͐̽̍͒ͪ́̓̔͜͢i̶̵̡͇̬̩̜̤͖͚̪̇̓́ͬͪ͒͛̏̐́ͮ̐̿ͪͬ͂ͬ́͘̕͝͝a̙̪͙̮̘͎̥̮͋̌̿͛͒̆ͤ̉̂͋͆̈͘͡͡͝s̙ͯ̏̐ͮ̚m̴̨̨̺̳̓̓́a̶̦̳͖̯̫̰̻̖̹̟̭͔̓͐̒ͬ̏̐̉ͥ̊̈́̂̒ͥͦ̋͆ͣ̈́͛ͬ͊̂͡͝͠ c͖̱͎̋ͪͫ͂̀̓̎͘̚͢͝ļ̧͇̣̜̫̯͍̥̌ͨ́ͧ̄̉ͣ̀̍̾̋͆͑ͥ̃̈́̇ͭ̋͂͑̂̿̋͠ͅo̡̱͍̺̭ͨ͒̆͟u̴̧̮̼͎͓͙̭͖̱͒͐ͬ̌ͨ̾̈́̕͘͠ͅd̸̮̖̜̱̙̦͔͕̅́̎̒ͫ̐̔ͥ̃̾͗̄̅̚͘͢͡͝͞s̽ o̬̫ͫͭv̨̹̻̘͉̗͌͒ͪ́̉̄e̗͈̟ͯrc̳̐͜ō̧̨̧̡̥͈̥̟̠͇̰̼̝̬͈͔ͣ̿͒͂̈ͪ̾̂̾̐͘͡͡͝ͅm̲̖̯͉̫̤̩ͪͨ̑̏͛͝ĕ̸̻̹͓̖̘͖̳͗̿ͪ͆̀̈ͣͩͮ̆̕͢͝_͓̉ͮ y̶̸̮̬͚̖̜̳̑̈͜͝ǫ̶̧͙͕̼̼̭̹̒͌ͬ͊́͑̏̃͘̕ù̷̡̝͙̭̺̮̭̬̪ͬ̓̓?

*

Let me ask you.

Why are you so afraid of the baptism

you could find in these arms?

So afraid of choosing

absolution instead clinging to the glass shards

of the heart someone broke in childhood, never mind

that I withstood your s͡hr̷̝͖̩͓̬̦̼͚̜͕̜͔͎̪̫͔ͣ̂ͯ̏ͣ̂̓̊̈͆̈̆̑̎̐͊͊̎͒͌ͫ̒ͮ̚͞͝ȃ̴̸̧̤͎ͯͯp̶̧̬̺̯̬̝̼̤̫̣̙̩̙̻̤̀ͬͯ͂̎̆͆͆ͤ̿͌͠͝n̸̡̦ͫͫ̿̈ȩ̡̢͚̻̩̬̦͋͛̈́͊̅̚͡͡͠l͙̠̬̬̮͔̀͐̅͊͛̒̅̄ͤ͒ͬ̔͘͜ to grow you a new one?

Why are you so afraid being washed clean?

For love is the holiest of waters

and can conquer every sullied being

and we're not special by any means

so why choose the same ḃ̴̸̯͖͍̠̦̮̮̠̤̳͔̽͐̿̽̇̓̓ͮ̕͘ŗ̵̴̵̸̼͙͖̬͓͙̫̣̮͖̘̲̳̙͍̮͕̆͗̏̀̋́͆ͦ͆̍͊́̾͞͝o̡͖̥̜̫̦̹̝̻̰̥ͭͫ̇̍͊͊͗̀ͭ͛̓͛ͬͥͫ̚͜͠k̨̹̻͉̖̝̙͎͉͚͚͈̙͖ͤ̍ͦͮ͛͊̐̆̓̄̿͊ͦͯ̊̑̉͊͜͠e̷͡n̟͇̤̻͎̳̻͈ͧ͋̐͑ͮ͋̏̕_̷̺͔̱͈͙͈̦ͬ̽̑ͤ̄̀̐ͨ͆͋̊̅̈́́ͤ̓͛̕͢͞͡͠routine, you feel me?

Why can't you let yourself settle into home?

Relax and know

Why work so hard to unlay

our house b̶̞̭̱͓̗͓̓͑̌͒̉͌ͯ̌͐ͪ̋ͭ͆́ͪṙ̸̶̹̫̎̽̂̄̒̆̈ͦͭ̆͢͠͞i̵̷̘̲͍ͦ͋́̕c̭̃̋͞k̶̭̹͔͈̲̼͇̖̘̥̄̃̂̆ͣ͆ͦ̈̈͞͠ b͎ͧͨy̶̨̛̛̟͇̘͎̠͎̩̻̣͍͍͐ͣ̂̌ͩͦ̏͛̚͝͠͡ b̨̡̦̭̹̖̬̝̫̗̝̦͍̮̖̉̾̇̂͗͗͐̽̅́́͋͗̐͛͑ͯͧ͘ͅr̢͇̰̯͓̙̩̼̪͎̅̂̂̈́̈́̾͛̊̋́ͩ̎̚͘͢͡ͅͅͅi̷͇̲̬̹͚̗͖͖͂ͦ̀̉ͬ͊̎ͯ̃̽̀̈́ͥ̌ͣͥͣͨͥ͠ć̬ͨk̵̶̨̳͙͖̺͓͇̲̜͆̅̂̓̈́ͮ͂͌̾̅̎̓̈́̃̔ͮ͞͝ b̴̴̡͉̤͍͎̦̭̦̠͕̈̍̊ͫ̾́͒̀̄̓̎̍̐̾͛̔͘͜y̴̢̳̗̏ͤ_̨̢̥̥̺͕̪̬̦̼ͥ̋̀͗͆ͩ̒͛͋̌ͬ͘ b̵̸̨̻͕͇̘̼̜̥͕͆̂̓̊̈́́̅ͬ̈ͤ̆ͭ̎̂̏͛̈̀̋ͫ̕̚r̵͈̦ͣ͜i̸̠̼͕̪̗͎̩̘̦͉͍̓ͤ̑̂̒͂͐͞͞c̸̢̡̩̥̼̣͖̯͎̼͚̼̠̰̐̈́́̈ͯͫ̓ͭ̂̃̓́̓͂́ͮͨͪ͢͡ͅķ̸̶̡̨̡̢̭̫̺͔͔̝̱̖̦̜̯̣̍͂̈ͩ́́̆̔̌̽ͯ͋̀͊̓̐̽̌ͧ̅ͫ͡

until there's nothing left but stones

and us and the bones,

the skeleton of our life teetering but we could save it if only we just

just—

if only we just—

if only we—

if only...

if...

*

The way I love you like a devotee

calls symphonies into the dark,

bringing epiphanies,

but I still couldn't find y̢̱̱̠͎̥̩̺̬͔̤͍̺̬̹͈̪̖̹̮͒ͧͤ̆̾̌̾̀̄̊ͪͮͨ͗̃̚͞ͅͅơ̢̨͚̺̪̽ͯ̍ͮ͐̑̆̒̓ͯͯ͊́̓ͧͩ͆͑́̚ű̼̼̹̝͊ͥ̔͜ and so

those hymns, I had to stop singing.