How the worlds create themselves

Tell me my tea fortunes,

I'll tell you the grass stained history,

I'll make up stories about the starlight boy and his attraction to misery.

I'll ramble on about heartbreak and the surprising effects of the fall.

I'll tell you,

over tea, 

how the ash marked girl sits by the window and waits for your call.

You'll hear about the turntables that spin in the wrong direction,

The ones that gave the first modern artist her true inspiration.

You'll hear about the girl who was too obsessed with the music,

How the rhythm gave her power and the drums taught her to use it.

The fire bound lovers who lit up the stage,

How they burnt eachother out,

How the wax and the wick was the perfect cage.

The wanderer who calls out for his friend,

Star crossed lovers,

The one he thought he would love until the very end.

How the world makes its own way,

every way you walk,

How you don't have a say.

The hundred of stories that the prophet spins,

How I look in the mirror every day,

And with a newness realize maybe I am him.