Something picture perfect. Something cracking. Stress facture weeping.
Fading picture graying image visage clutching holding keeping. Something evil. Something pure.
This compulsion will be the very thing that kills me.
Keep in mind the hours I keep. Six feet for sure every night. Two hours at best – if you'd call it "best".
My mind racing. My feet pacing. Leave me be. Stop tormenting me. I'm comming down.
Something picture perfect. Something cracking. I'm comming down.