01 Apr

               And so it begins, social phobia settin’ in, and it’s like I can feel all of their eyes crawlin’ across my skin. And I know that they’re wonderin’… because they’re always wonderin’.
               I stretch the limit past the reason, peeling open my skull and searching every fuckin’ season, because I must find the source of this open pourin’ lesion. Gotta stop the bleedin’… gotta find the reason.
               A shadow cast against every happy memory, the darkness in the back over every face I see, because I know that they’re dead, just as dead as fuckin’ me. How much farther can it be… and how much more must I bleed?
               Then I found my smile cause I smoked an ounce, saw death in my dreams just waitin’ to pounce, but it was written in words I couldn’t properly pronounce, because the reaper told a secret I just couldn’t announce.
               Like dreams of stone drawn upon the sand, or a dreaming woman lost inside a man, or the stretched out palm of his sweaty hand, or like a broken prospector mining goldless land. What happened to the plan, did it die with the lamb, what happened to the plan? Please God, save this man.

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Posted by on April 1, 2015 in Paradise Drift


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