.click.

I'm tormented.


it's 4 am again. mid-day. and the night.
oh- it grabs me by the throat to scream.
[I'm less than nothing]

when two and two makes tomorrow.
these grainy-film.stripped memories bleed me by.
and I'm dried up like a broken-hearted eye.
that has no more tears left.
because crying is overrated
when the skies don't listen
blink
away

.the pain.

because drinking takes too much effort
when apathy casts her ice cold hands around wrists.
and turns my blood to stone.
the dreams. they whisper
[you'reneveralone]
blame nostalgia.

but it's hard to believe whispers
when the screams drown them out.
more publicity. more fame. the skies bellow
-and I keep thinking.

'was that laughter'

and I'm a fucking wreck.
said the teardrops to the pavement
before their final meeting.


I'm pounding the earth. maybe.
it still holds some semblance
of meaning.

only

these hands. they're broken.
and my tongue isn't worth believing.