We pretend to die,
every time we close our eyes and drift into sleep.
We test drive suicide every night...
What's been pinned as dreams,
is just a joy ride inside deaths design.
I wish I could press rewind,
I miss the times when I wasn't grown yet.
Before the onset of owed debt,
until my own depth lessened
to where i'm almost homeless.
when I wrote this,
I was fucking depressed.
A malfunctioning mess at best.
There's a beast hidden in the leaves
of each of our family trees.
We tend to weave the limbs together
to cocoon the shame so the world can't see.
We're all high speed on a highway of dying
while lying in bed.
I'll sleep when I'm dead?
You die when you sleep, even if brief.
Your being making attempts to leap
from inside skin, jump starts
your heart once again, in the AM.