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This is your brain on shrugs.
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Lainey Gossip
The Awl
As virtuous men pass mildly away, /
And whisper to their souls to go, /
Whilst some of their sad friends do say, /
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No." /
So let us melt, and make no noise, /
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; /
'Twere profanation of our joys /
To tell the laity our love. /
Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ; /
Men reckon what it did, and meant ; /
But trepidation of the spheres, /
Mad fucks to be gotten cheap /
Dull sublunary lovers' love /
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit /
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove /
The thing which elemented it. /
But we by a love so much refined, /
That ourselves know not what it is, /
Inter-assurèd of the mind, /
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. /
Our two souls therefore, which are one, /
It's mad emo and I'm kinda sad /
A breach, but an expansion, /
Like gold to aery thinness beat. /
If they be two, they are two so /
As stiff twin compasses are two ; /
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show /
To move, but doth, if th' other do. /
And though it in the centre sit, /
Yet, when the other far doth roam, /
A constant lean and emo sad shit goes, /
And grows erect, as that comes home. /
Such wilt thou be to me, who must, /
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ; /
Fuck dude it all sucks and shit whatnot, /
And makes me end where I begun.
