This street is when you feel like every persons eyes are burning holes into you. You are on fire. Matches of seize and fear . They are the thefts of light, drinking every ounce of it. Leaving me as a dead tree.
can someone please remove my hands from over my eyes?
It is cultivating for years. That is the worst type of pain, it sits there and just refuses to dissolve. The type of pain to just come knocking unexpectedly on your doors. Then the moth ate through your favorite shirt.
But, the most painful type of pain is the one who turns us into trustless glasses of saccharine.
The sun leans on the roof of Wanted workers The money they make is built on the money in graves Protest signs in dumpsters Astrology signs in caves The strings; they are pulling The strong; they are ashamed The weak; they are to blame Baby doll has no name
I've been here once before and I'll never be again I've said that once before. This time I'll hold my breath It's certainly her body. Is it then her soul? Is the fault that of the master? He must be in control I'll tell her it's alright, but the truth is I don't know Baby doll is not alone Baby doll does not know
The sun bends past the roof The money has been made Protesters have been mistakes New parking's being paved Baby dolls don't have a face They are personified Baby dolls can not feel pain The master forces hand Baby doll's not in the plan
White, black, grey polaroid memories in colorless tone. Shining white white like your eyes torrid and hanging anguishing white. White grinning gorging on fear gripping white. White foam forming at the corners of your mouth. your hair shone white. Grey as I looked up, Black is what followed.