And there is no one else. 

 
And whom I've returned to places razors in my throat.  

And I chew and swallow. 
In silence. 

My hands glides below and I return to a damp Hell. 

And it is not you. 
Will it ever?

Will my fingers obey? 
And will I pull myself from those watchless places? 


Yet. 


They visit. 

And my heart rings. 

No tone. 

Yet. 

A fully his reminds me. 

Not to live much longer. 

To dig graves and never enter. 

And baby please tell me. 

Where you are. 

Who you are. 

The health exits my eyes. 

In return a call is placed. 

And missed. 

My eyes. 

Everything you've pulled from others days. 

And why may it not be mine own?