I see it simmer down that liquid of the slitted frown; Is it clear? Is it red? Is it water? Is it thread? Well, I know that it will slither round the tunnels of my head, modifying my thoughts into Am I screaming or am I dead? Tricking me into immortality instead of memory for the oh-long-dead. Is this what you ask of me, princess of my head?
Well, I abide your laws of flaws, they are like claws against my goals, clawing their way inside my coral walls, but its with these thoughts that our mind gloats.
I used to watch myself in the mirror and flip a switch I could not turn off the twitch and now I can’t fix neither it, nor our cold, thus, I have formed a new kind of gold dust.
And my gold dust can change form to fill the cold parts of our heart, but it does spill, and it does kill our memory of the oh-long-dead. And it does scare me that I will forget what once tucked me in bed, oh, does it not encover me in dread that all I remember was myself self-fed.