My head feels like an archers arrow,
As far as it can stretch across his bow.
The pressure is building,
Im seconds from release (relief).
My legs feel like a hurricane,
Shaking from a shift in the plates.
It's gonna die down soon,
But it wont let me sleep in the meantime.
My stomach feels like a galaxy,
So lonely and empty it groans for comfort.
Stars are dying and new fires are
igniting.
Spontaneous combustion is inevitable.
My eyes feel like old, worn-out lightbulbs,
Dim now, and flickering.
Im praying for them to cut to black