I can feel every little thing but the pain you left is a permanent sting, condescending into me. And all the pressure halts the blood in my veins my heart is a prisoner and your love is the cage. My life is a series of waves that have mastered the art of pain. And now with every step i take you will feel the stain of my existence. With your hands around my neck, my throat closing in on me.
Movements. This broken down home isn't yours to call home. If this is it then i'd rather be fixed in stone.
The ground you with stowed upon will be the beginning of your downfall. Having your conscience sink into your stomach, buried underneath the ashes of your own existence. I am nothing more then bones encased in skin, nothing more then a metaphor for a human being rotting away as the sun sets. What i built is washed away by the currents of my own reconciliation and i have now realized that god hates me.
I walk these streets with no name, no room to breath. It keeps getting worse and worse for me. I have no name.
What I built is washed away by the currents of my own reconciliation.