Sullen morning, empty nights.
I’m ripping my brain out of my skull.
Good morning dying urges.
You know, the ones that tell you to fight.
Splinters deepening their tendrils into my hands.
Flies giving me a chance to surrender.
always reminding me of what I have to lose.
You know, the only asset is a plan.
Morose all over.
Aching shoulders, hanging from my neck.
Is this really what we should be scared of.
You know, we can’t be this sombre.