Five thirty seven am on a 29th of March On the Year of twenty fifteen, on the hot breeze Left with lunatic schemes not as usual But as often as the summer comes But not as permanent as the street love Cornered with nothingness hoping for Zeus.
There's a demon in my head and it's finally figured out how to turn my skin transparent and show itself. It escapes through the blank stares in my eyes and as much as I try I can't stop it from venting through my teeth with whatever air is left in my lungs. It's slowly killing me and making my blood toxic.