One of the only fun things is the idea of your tongue in my mouth,
It’d be such a relief to feel alive for a change.
To feel like what I am, instead of a stony-bodied husk.
Too tired and sick of it to feel anything, too stressed to do anything but rest.
Too drained for the admin of life, brushing my teeth I’m bored.
Sticking straight face, trapped behind.
My soul exhales in a sick of it sigh.
Deadened nerves, my sensation is always a low one.
Deadweight – I can’t even be bothered to lift.
Tears can’t come out, unless I’m drunk, but that hurts my throat and my head, the sweetness makes me nauseous.
I suppose it’s a bit of despair – how unattractive, not like I give a shit, sick of it – like I said.