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dark stained wooden table |
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i'll breathe when i am able |
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for now i'll hold it in |
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with all of my |
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disembodied and |
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unassociated sounds of departure |
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for the night |
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and finally breathing pitch black until |
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i had emptied out the till |
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heard the tires squeal |
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but you won't right? |
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i swore to myself |
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last time was the last time |
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in past lives i was wealthy |
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so probably unhappy |
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oh i'm so glad i died |
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i travel from point a, to point b, to point c |
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trying to lose more points along the way |
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to get lower |
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i travel from point a, to point b, to point c |
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trying to fall from grace along the way |
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to get lower and lower and lower |
