some would've said, fine, this is it, the cards are on the table and someone has played its part.
for me, it's nothing but that.
it looks as if now i have a starting point,
the blossoming of the blood that has been saving itself up.
i trusted my gut this long,
it has kept me alive,
no doubt.
now it says it's time
to bleed out
spill it out,
all out
all out
to breathe and play the next goddamned round
a mind-game created by yours truly
here i am;
here i begin.
the
the struggle
the mountains
the layers of stitches
the air conditioning
the itching in the throat
the shoving words down your throat
the rustiness
the fear
the need to be sincere
the extreme pain
the extreme cold
this sensation doesn't get old
stranger's disease iii
sweetness in the tip of my tongue
it's always bulging me, protruding like a limb
a nuisance to everything i see
it's killing me
softly, luring me into sleep
but i'd never sleep for long,
not without the shadows
and the room's got to vacate
who is brooding and who is lame
behind my gums it sticks
stays in palce like a random itch
don't know how it came,
but strangely it buries itself.
it's cold out, i've said it before
now it's burning me and my sheets
can i feel at ease?
keep my fears at bay,
relieve the tensions in my chest
until then i'll meet you
in the back of the bus