The stress on my inner body and self. Lacking forgiveness, Lying directionless. Maybe this the crest will rake. but the ships already sank. And the pays far steady, on an empty tank. I'm tardy, running on angst. rotting the lining of my stomach. To dismiss the feeling of a rock tied to my race. With fleeing waste. I take these pangs to relieve taste. But the times on pace. Ticking on. I'm two or three days from me and the space is held in place.