A penny for my thoughts
but zero for my head
petrified amplified
better off dead.
My body faces the music
and I feel it in my skin
and the pain is the same
lose, draw or win.
Electrocution of my senses
sight, smell, sound, touch too
is really terrible, quite unbearable
enough to make one come unglued.
And my throat, it is closing
nothin' going in or coming out
no breathin, just dry heavin'
can't whisper, scream, or shout
Just hidin' in the dark
in the silence as well
unapproachable, untouchable
closer to the flames of hell.
And the blood pumpin' through ya
it hurts, just circulating
I hear it and I fear it
more panic percolating.
It be nice if I could puke
then I could take a breath
too much time, stand in line
to meet the hand of death.
Not just a minute this will last
but six hours it might be
time perception, I'm confessin'
is a weak point in me.
So I've popped all the pills
the doctor said I could
now with rhythm, fight my villain
like a panic survivor should.
No comments:
Post a Comment