Radioactive laughter fuses such swell.
Swell is the substance, the breath and my body.
My body, my breath and my substance.
Waiting to get abused.
The soldier gets his glow-sticks out.
The man of substance. That look, worn-out.
He points the gun on my heart, I feel him in my gut.
Orchids pour out of this smut and am very hurt.
A whiff of substance I burn in.
Never will I sustain as whole again.
I touch myself again and forget that I was once electric.
To pick up your stash and leave is another thing,
to leave your stash and leave is another.
But to lose your substance altogether is of bother.