Are you comfortable?
Oh I’d cut you out of my skin, fearlessly, if I could, but you are intangible.
So whisper sweet things to me at my death bed and give me false happiness,
Give me temporal perpetuity, then casually,
Remind me how we are all easily perishable
No sleeping. No eating.
Thoughts became so very crisp. And you just want to rip your head off sometimes.
Everything is overly significant. And completely frivolous all at the same time.
You are not a real person anymore.
You have no instincts.
You have no emotions.
You are just alone. Alone in your shell, sick out of your head.
Disassembled and put back together. Carelessly handled.
Craft Spells - Nausea
Do I know where I go when I sleep?
No, but I’ll gladly call it home.
Uhh goodbye my lungs!
Settled in my rib cage
A selfish scavenger,
A thousand pound passenger.
Life is so weird. It gives you things and then takes them away. And you’re just standing there trying to figure out why it did what it did and what you are suppose to do about it or think of it.