My skull is a cold cellar of clanking chains,
each thought a nail twisting deeper into my sleep.
Compulsion comes like a storm that rends my ribs,
a mechanism of repetition with no start and no end.
Where are my rounds?
I breathe in lead, my lungs filling with night,
my heart pounds against walls of concrete and glass.
Voices are ants tunneling beneath my skin,
their tiny feet tapping rhythms of guilt and panic.
Where's my gun?
Life is a broken clock that keeps on ticking,
tick, tick, tick ... and I cannot stop the hands.
Chained to my own name, I drag it like a tombstone,
the help that came had empty pockets and cold hands.
Finger on the trigger...
I walk through streets that never light up,
lanterns ***** oil and memories burn.
My shoes are anchors, my feet sink into black water,
I no longer feel the ground, only the pressure of nothing.
Gun to my head...
Every attempt is a tear in thin paper,
my words fall like ash and vanish.
I want to slam the door but the door is mine,
and the key is rusted, broken, nowhere to be found.
5d ago
May 30, 2026 at 5:56 AM UTC
My skull is a cold cellar of clanking chains,
each thought a nail twisting deeper into my sleep.
Compulsion comes like a storm that rends my ribs,
a mechanism of repetition with no start and no end.
Where are my rounds?
I breathe in lead, my lungs filling with night,
my heart pounds against walls of concrete and glass.
Voices are ants tunneling beneath my skin,
their tiny feet tapping rhythms of guilt and panic.
Where's my gun?
Life is a broken clock that keeps on ticking,
tick, tick, tick ... and I cannot stop the hands.
Chained to my own name, I drag it like a tombstone,
the help that came had empty pockets and cold hands.
Finger on the trigger...
I walk through streets that never light up,
lanterns ***** oil and memories burn.
My shoes are anchors, my feet sink into black water,
I no longer feel the ground, only the pressure of nothing.
Gun to my head...
Every attempt is a tear in thin paper,
my words fall like ash and vanish.
I want to slam the door but the door is mine,
and the key is rusted, broken, nowhere to be found.
