My body is a wasteland if worn parts.
My soul is the rusted joints, holding my soul to my body...But keeping just a knocking distance from reality.
Reality is the soil upon which every anxious structure of my body is built.
To let this building crumble is to **** the last of my faith in myself and I will NOT be repaired this time around.
I can never fall again.
That's why we paint over these cracked plasters...And build on all of the rotted cores...
This building of mine BOTTLES up every bad thing going on inside of me and
PAINTS
Over it.
I must never fall because to fall is to show what's inside.
To fall is to break and never, ever recover.
So why the **** am I crumbling to the ground...