Freakout Voice

Unfortunately, this is true. My mind is running ragged. Throwing thread-bare cloth to the ground. Nothing fits in the tired luggage i lug around.

So i am sitting here. Typing on my phone. To an audience i cannot smile towards. Or notice the faces that hold an ounce of cure. Hoping fate drags me from this gear that imprisons my soul.

Contradicting myself, i slump back into my head. Wallow in my memory, to bank an unknown future on prayer alone.

Alone.