I question
My very own gut, my very own center, my very own vision
It feels like a splinter

I want it out, I can not swallow, I have no grip
My rib cage, hallow

Button up the idea behind my feelings for you
I lack motivation to secure a dying dream
I lack thirst for the adventure
I lack patience for this frightful endeavor

You made it this way
I picked the book, but you keep flipping the page
I am hooked somewhere in the beginning
Ground beneath me still spinning
Round, and round the clock I go
Numbers press on 'til you come home