All the lies are growing vines,
wrapping around everything that they can find.
Twisted thoughts become tangled pleas.
I hope for you to rescue me
from all the dark places
that inflate with the space
between you and me,
between love and misery.

Time is a broken clock.
Singing endlessly, "When will the music stop?"
The verses blur into Answer me!'s
but I cannot speak.
I dread coming to,
though I'd much rather be with you,
the questions, like flowers, are pressing
So for him I'm *******.
The whispers, they threaten.
I'm no longer in your possession.
Forgive me.