Why do I?
Maybe I blow things out of proportion and maybe the time has come. Maybe the clock was ticking all along and maybe it was getting too hard to run. The time and the hand and the snow and the sand and everything that anyone has ever said since day one. Tick tock tick tock all scrambled and messed inside of my head and there's nothing but silence here in my bed. Silence and anger which sounds much like the gnashing of sharp yellow teeth. It's sickness and it's disappointment and it's everything I promised myself it wouldn't be. It's ugly and it's horrid and inside it's positively killing me. My putrid insides spilling out through my eyes and my ears and the pores of my head. My darkness slowly creeping out like oil from my mouth.