The cuts are warm on my hips
Blood and heat is primal, tangible,
Human and animal
I escape into my mind more and more and more and more
I can't remember the dreams, but being
Someone else, with different thought patterns
Different goals, different family, different loves
I can feel the cuts in my thigh while I dream
Holding and encasing, pressing in and blanketing
I know the dreams don't want to break, but break like a fever
If I didn't have to wake
I'd never live a life I'm willing to take.