I die when I think of you bare.
My sheets swallow me whole.
Don't tell mother.
I am laying in almost a puddle.
I can't think of a reason to care.
Crack three times.
And oh what a charm.
Running around in circles.
Circling the real issue at hand.
At palm.
At index finger.
Running towards.
Running away.
We are too bad to live.
And now I am dead.