Thickening.
Welling up.
Swelling down.
Scabs that pick themselves from me.
Growing gray…
Fading black.
A pale palette, I fail to see.
Fervor left.
Nothing’s right.
So I prefer nothing to be…
But it’s alright…
I draw my shell,
The pale palette, I fail to see…
Swelling down.
Scabs that pick themselves from me.
Growing gray…
Fading black.
A pale palette, I fail to see.
Fervor left.
Nothing’s right.
So I prefer nothing to be…
But it’s alright…
I draw my shell,
The pale palette, I fail to see…