Vortexes within my head,
And the filament behind my eyes
     is burning out.
How did I get to this?
Sitting my *** down in metaphoric ****.
Silently screaming with snapshots of
my face both ripping and tearing away.
My bones break and calcify with horror,
as dread melts away the calm facade.
The dirt smell of an open grave is welcome
and shunned as my eyes open to light and life.

But my feet are buried in the coffin and fingers tear at the grass.
I’m screaming out for hope and others only laugh.
Thosesome people just want to see the world burn closest cannot see it, while others look away.
Maybe it would be better if I just light the match.

Burn burn burn.