More black lines on the roads ahead warn me of what is still hidden between the memories I'm too scared to access.
She still sits in that chair with her back to me after all these years, whispering words I'm unable to make any real sense of.
Ships of broken needles hold the secrets that carry me to a place far from people, far from their questioning, far from me having to face what it is that still drives me to the corners of my own mind.
Expanding fissure across almost every vision, you grow bigger and bigger as I collapse in on myself.
Into the foetal position I will drag my body and attempt rest, but my bones never stop contorting my skin, pushing themselves to the point of breaking out and letting the cold winter wind caress my dirty white frame that is still fighting for a different way.
Day after day, after day, after day.
She still sits in that chair with her back to me after all these years, whispering words I'm unable to make any real sense of.
Ships of broken needles hold the secrets that carry me to a place far from people, far from their questioning, far from me having to face what it is that still drives me to the corners of my own mind.
Expanding fissure across almost every vision, you grow bigger and bigger as I collapse in on myself.
Into the foetal position I will drag my body and attempt rest, but my bones never stop contorting my skin, pushing themselves to the point of breaking out and letting the cold winter wind caress my dirty white frame that is still fighting for a different way.
Day after day, after day, after day.