I beat my chest like a toad for freedom. For I know not where to find it, but I know how to hide it. I bite my tongue for lanquidity. I hold my breath for liquidation. What I wish for this self is fleeting, is freeing, is something that I cannot have, I cannot claim. I want not for liberation, but for claim. A claim on youth, a claim on life, a claim on love. I beat my chest like a toad for freedom. Like a trucker in a wedding gown, I cut my bangs so I might be beautiful. Like a priest in a Mercedes, I regret so I might live. My mother was a scullery maid In the decay of May, in the morning of june, Under lark of the night, in a syrupy dream. I call to her and she answers. She loves me too much. credits released October 18, 2019 thanks to collin for the pic