This life is racing, pacing,

Taking laps one gets daunting of,

At some point lasps are real deal breakers.

Its pathological the way we follow our impulses,

Illogical paths often get our pulse racing.

Habits that should have remained in the past,

Keep waiting in the corridor like ghosts. 

We try to keep dead stories buried,

But later look at how hoarding fed them to devour u...

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His words could become sharp as corners

And trap you there

Flailing in his grasp

They could pinch your skin

Until you cried

And cried

Throughout your shifts

They could catch your wrists and stop you

From moving on

From moving

They could lock the doors, no leaving

They could shame you and shrink you

They could come flying in from an open window,

A buzzing phon...

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