Pushing through the pain that comes in waves.
Holding onto it like a life preserver.
Hoping, wishing, needing that it save.
Both are inversions of the same.
Both are conversions of your frame.
No matter how you try, no difference between a lie or alibi. You’re sliding…
Into the hole of blackness you’d never thought you’d see.
Sliding…
Down a path that life presents you.
Feeling that life resents you.