dwindling flames on a newspaper
cutting off the last hairs
this isn’t fair
wheres the rewind?
wheres the continuation?
does everything always have to combust into inflammation?
no
inflammation is your skin
it lives on you
it is from you
it is all you
inflammation could be paper thin
it could be just in the wind
but it isn’t the outside
it is not a border
the blame is on you
you make your bed
it is all in your own head
you create your own reality
that is whats so scary about finality
it is the one thing you cannot control
it is a hole
an amalgamation
it is the one thing that stops the colors in the inflammation
it sparks the flame on the newspaper
the rewind is there
just use your own head
use your own world
but if there is one thing you take away
from this continuation
do not blame the inflammation on the world
it is all you
it is all you

it is all fun and games to be different
to live in the opposite direction

it is all fun and games to be cool
to never be under someone’s protection

but angst hurts when the bullets fall from the sky
and if you wonder how mainstream is so crowded,

now you know why

little lottie could never speak her mind
it was always encrypted
it was always in code
and the cypher? i could never find

me and little lottie once played in the street
and all at once
my world turned around
and the world was filled with no sound

but my ears were filled with little lottie’s voice
and unfortunately it was uncrypted

i had no choice