I am a puppet with lowly strings,
The children they laugh hollow echos in my ears,
Make it disappear,
The demons they say,
They’re in my head,
Yet writing through my hands they blead,
How fast must one address these things in order to bring peace at night,
Alone in crazy’s might,
May I be persistent in my failures of sleep or can death just take tool...?
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
I am a puppet with lowly strings,
The children they laugh hollow echos in my ears,
Make it disappear,
The demons they say,
They’re in my head,
Yet writing through my hands they blead,
How fast must one address these things in order to bring peace at night,
Alone in crazy’s might,
May I be persistent in my failures of sleep or can death just take tool...?
I think I’m going crazy.
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