Sleep is the only reprieve
When life is stuck on repeat

But even then I see the dead
They carry on as if nothing has happened
They aren't dead

Back in the past
Back in the downstairs Den up North
All stale and brown

I cannot keep people in their proper places
They become jumbled in my heart
Everything and nothing happen so quickly to me

Where is the schizophrenic in the woods?
And the boy out in the corn fields?
I cannot flatter myself anymore with your existence
When mine is fighting for its own