I can feel it again, one day in every two.
When nights start to drip like glue
cycled thoughts like clock hands always tick their way back to you.
with wrinkled sheets and pillows that still smell like saliva and skin
I claw at myself and try to settle in
This deprivation aides hallucinations
I catch light traces in the corner of my eyes,
they jaunt and taunt with old skin, blue pupils and killer smiles
And all I have are scabs and extra flesh
bad habits, scary stories and nothing less
The hands tick and subjects quickly change, the hours drag and its gets more strange
Lucid scene: a man in a room; they come too quickly and I can hardly move
Nights get frightening, bed gets smaller, my skin,
to fragile and attent, needs to cover everything
I pray for any sleep, to a god I don't believe in
I force a smile on my face and deny all I've seen
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