Bronte

Every moment you are conscious of your own decay Your insides break, collapse upon themselves Life the hydrogen weapon used to obliterate your body There is no escape from this This is the mind breaking, eating away at the delicate fibers of sanity and stability And soon the muscles and fingers and limbs will begin to twitch, Whisper to be itched, to move, to take action Barricade against the calm touchings, the fabrication of Present Life And in this moment, you swore to conformity Never again to feel the insects, parasitic ticks crawl, Crawl beneath the skin and feel them burrow But they are only dormant now, Waiting to be awakened through conscious