Another knife in my back,

Bubbling up to my bloody eyes.

And the songs will soothe me,

and the baby is lovely,

but it keeps twisting its screw in like a worm.

And they know me so well,

I see it reflection in every scream on the street.

The sloth of insecurity sucks on the purity,

while the baby rolls in the dirt with me.

Im so much better than this,

But my wings are all cut

and bleeding.

Make it better, I beg.

Dare I watch them melt?

Under the dry ice,

and leave them alone to face the mirror,

where I lost myself among them?

I want to fly.

But the sky

has closed

For the day.