electric impulses knaw at nubs formerly known as finger tips, worn down to bits by the desire to drench this world with one simple thing that may or may not be everlasting
i'm in search of a replacement for flimsy false hopes and finicky heart pokes, for flat lined finite chopped up bits flying up nostrils in hysterical hits
even escapists smack walls from which they can't slither through silently, walls covered in mirrors full of faces fueled with hostility
all the faces are my own and it's time i find some grace before i finally pull my last astonishing escape from this place