That tinge in my back is a faulting line of criss-crossed wires. My spine cringes in a hollowed way, yet I walk through back alleys with knives and back-stabbing thoughts! My name means nothing without restoration, without definition! A fighting chance is so thirty years ago, but I am a fighting soul- my grave will read here lies a loving bum, a true son of the one and only God; Myself!
I need no false predictions or gratification, only tender love, and the flesh of a human! Wrap me in comfort. Blanket me in your heart. Clothe me in your hair. Wake me with your scent!
Stressed Out!
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