he keeps me
trapped in a prism prison of different shades and tints of red
crimson, scarlet, marlot
follow me down into some kind of thing we'll drag on for months
keeping the dead animal of our situation-ship around until the neighbors complain of the stench
i dont know, dude.
i open myself up and i see the same shades of red flowing out
the stench is there as well- i smell like a gun
anxiety chews away at the rest of my body,
gnawing on my ear, feeding me more information i didn't need to hear
you say i'm trigger happy when it comes to jumping to conclusions
if i'm a gun, you're the smoke from the shot.