work me world
i have a back door in my mind that you escape from after the seconds that pass to create my weeks
during which
i keep on running into reflections i wish i could be, that is, my own.
in my lonely late nights, when i forget upon who i can depend always, i realize maybe i'm not so ready, as i am until the end of daytime, but t'may be as well that i'm just in the wrong rooms. which is why i miss them, which is why i want to create them.
my hands are itching, while the rest of the body is perspiring from pressure from within (only) that wears out beyond recognition. well, beyond recognition is a lie, which is why i have come to fear it greater yet, respect it more every time. the pressure accepts no help and has no compassion for limits of the body.
i want to draw your teeth, that could bite. no warm winds blow in silent, white, crowded, rooms. the distance amplifies the noise that would.
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