The collar compressing my vocal cords when I try to leave the yard.
I am chained to a fence of isolation,
And my happiness rises and fades with the tide.
The yellow shine of joy poisons my insides,
For they are not familiar with the Stars.
Broken glass doesn't taste as good as I'd hoped,
But the orange grooved cup made the nerves in my hands hum, and I craved the song.
My mother always told me to never fall asleep by the pool,
But I've found myself waking to the iridescent glares of the midday.
Too much sunshine, Clementine.