A glass in hand is two birds with one stone. You killed the litter before they could prosper. Resuscitation and the search for an answer; I said yes without even the offer. Panic attacks, and a trip to the coast. I grabbed my jacket, and punched into the mirror. I choked on that breath, settled down with a fever. And I won't get away with that one either.
You bet I don't wanna talk about it.
I saw you face down, back arched, all covered in marks; an empty vessel with only an anchor. They took it out of you, and put it in me, so broken a creature, such broken up features.
Each time that I find something meaningful I burn it.
How do we keep a body afloat when it's run out of air? How do you sell yourself to others who aren't gonna care? How do I stay consistent and constant in my dead stare? Why do I keep myself alive, when I just don't fucking care?
I'm gonna die like this.