The Confessions of a 90's Kid

No Better Than Dead

The taste of brick and pipe hurts teeth,

Trapped in the harsh light of bulb where I myself keep,

Introversion reversion may save my soul,

But that requires energy that I daren't dream own,

I rarely glance at the floor if I haven't slipped blind,

The tiptoe of feet could out-sing a secret cry,

Bed sheet fabric is ever so itchy,

Thanks to the slavers now you know I'm not bitchy,

Not that I truly ponder what you think,

What I think of your thoughts is that time will sink,

Although time sinks as I don't struggle in my bed,

Existence is hollow seconds no better than dead,

It is just that my tongue has lots more to say,

So please!

Don't judge it from that brick and pipe taste!