Carry Me Home In a Pot of Severed Circles

carry me home in a pot of severed circles i must become a square to become more well rounded i am but a recluse giving french kisses to the public eye visine is the stop sign caution of the day at night i have the flashlight sniffles as a direct pathway to clarity my body feels soapy but there is no streaky scene i'm squeaky clean i invite myself to ceremonies where all themes are monolithic i take several falls until i stand with all bones broken nothing makes sense anymore so i stop sensing nothing has a groove anymore so i imitate max headroom nothing pulls me in anymore so i push myself to outer limits when nothing is left i will be one with the deer and such jigsaw puzzles become shards of glass of wilted, fragmented souls this is what we call life now but there will always be disagreements