My headâs a thousand fahrenheit!
Itâs not like you will see the light.
Bright causes lances through my mind.
You will adjust, donât lag behind.
I dug burrows in my horde today.
Itâs natural. A place to lay.
Cantines and tangerines flood like water in my room.
Nothing you canât deal with with just a little groom.
My lungs are beetles, bloodsâ a worm
Itâs puberty, no need to squirm
My vision transmissions from antennas, static triangles and spears
Itâs okay, no need to shed those dramatic displaced tears
My ears are buzzing, a violent ring of flying coughing wings
The pressuresâ simply dropped; you look into too many things
My heartâs a beetle, surrounded by its cage!
Iâve tried every single pesticide, canât seem to turn the page!
Stop overreacting, your heartâs perfectly fine.
I thought you were just paranoid, but now, youâve crossed the line
The line across my chest I canât seem to tear away?
The line like javelins that donât permit my thoughts to stay?
You say a line is deep and set, the saying bashed in concrete, the border in cement,
but my body is a rubber band, it binds my hands like cuffs,
the centipedes, they bite and bite and burrow, but they do not have enough!
I bit my tongue this Saturday.
You say I bled in lines of red.
But what if I just blurted that I bled in blue instead?
That line you slander is meant to keep you sane
You keep complaining about what binds your chains in my domain
But I say the chains you say youâre bound by donât exist
And yet you add more side effects to your mad symptom list
You say you bled, I say you cried
Keep crying wolf, Iâll leave your side
Your agony's a phase, a skin youâll molt next year
Your pain is like a maze, delusion fueled by fear
If you donât watch your mouth, my help will no longer be near
My sobbingsâ not a trance
I beg of thee to let me free, this line I cannot cross
Depression is not just a symptom that you could always gloss!
But alas, your hearingsâ gone
When I told you of my death you turned your head and yawned
My tongue became a boatman bug, my teeth are all necrobia
My slug-like lips close on the burning word entomophobia
And so I plead insane, unlike Queen Anne Boleyn
Goodbye farewell, we will not meet again.
I know you know youâre guilty, just like Queen Anne Boleyn.
Goodbye, farewell, I know weâll meet again.
vaporwave
blakekathryn
jbbartram-illu
areudirty