MUSIC IS
THE AIR
THAT I
BREATHE
IT'S THE
BLOOD
THAT
PUMPS
THROUGH
MY VEINS
Dead visions in your name, dead fingers in my veins, dead memories in my heart.
I'm just so tired and scared
and sad because you don't
see me the way I see you and
you're t he humming in my
veins while I'm just the dust
on your fingertips.
and sad because you don't
see me the way I see you and
you're t he humming in my
veins while I'm just the dust
on your fingertips.
I have screamed until my veins collapsed,
I've waited as my times elapsed;
Now all I do is live with so much fate.
I've waited as my times elapsed;
Now all I do is live with so much fate.
Scientific Fact: If you took all the veins out of your body and
laid them end to end, you would die.
She looked in the mirror and mumbled strings
of thought together, however incoherent they might be. A frail,
greying figure looked back, too young to have looked the way
she did, and she knew it.
She saw the haunted look in her eyes, the veins etching themselves like tattoos under her skin. She saw a shell of her former self. They colorless body stood almost still in the mirror, the only movement coming from her chest when she breathed in shallow breaths, like the task had become too painful for her to bear.
The boy stood behind her, horrified.
"I am a shell," she spoke quietly.
The boy said nothing.
"I am afraid," she whispered again.
"Of what?" He questioned back. His voice was strong, clear, assertive. Her voice was raspy, weak, and monotone.
"Myself," she stated in a bland tone before collpasing to the floor.
- Except of a book I'll never write
She saw the haunted look in her eyes, the veins etching themselves like tattoos under her skin. She saw a shell of her former self. They colorless body stood almost still in the mirror, the only movement coming from her chest when she breathed in shallow breaths, like the task had become too painful for her to bear.
The boy stood behind her, horrified.
"I am a shell," she spoke quietly.
The boy said nothing.
"I am afraid," she whispered again.
"Of what?" He questioned back. His voice was strong, clear, assertive. Her voice was raspy, weak, and monotone.
"Myself," she stated in a bland tone before collpasing to the floor.
- Except of a book I'll never write
