The crumpled bedsheet, the not so warm blanket
In a room that screams at you
With silent whines
Leaking into your chest
Of the empty walls, like your empty insides
Screaming with an undeafening rage
caught up in the suspension of time
The days just melt together
muddling into a whirlwind of the incessant noise
Wrapped up in your mess,the wrecks of demise
head feels heavy and hollow at the same time
The heavens had you arche over the edge of
One attached to
The symbol of perfection
forging the museum of a subtle paralyzing destruction
And now you're wondering if you're back to square one
And if you're walking on a fine line
Again?
18, huh. I don't wanna get older. What a terrifying thing it is, to have the reigns of your life entirely to yourself. What if you stumble, trip over and mess up?
