Nov 1st
static in my brain and kick drums in my chest
equate the feeling of the constant unrest
in my wrist is a pulse beating beneath my skin
staring blankly while i contemplate the similarities
of plucking the artery or snapping a loose thread
connecting my life from death
ripping at the seams of my bitter disposition
my poor hand of cards
loosing my composure
to break for all to see
or let it consume me
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