whatwe w8 4
bleed it out, followin’ an inclination to where division actualizes as stone faced facade playing into our fears. creatures of habit, defined by what’s gone, hurtin’ to make what we can while life still compels us forward. in lieu of a place to rest our heads in peace, we’ll settle for a no man’s land between home and the arms of someone who oddly resembles the I we’ve always known.
















