𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
Visions,
Visions of obscurity,
They seem to exist on a tape.
Tape that gets played by the walkman inside my cranium.
And when it get played,
Everything seems to fade.
Cold are the nights afterwards.
Numbness lurks around.
Fear,
I fear that this tape would get struck.
I fear that it already has.
I fear that the woeness would drain me,
Would drain till all there left is murkiness.
