I'm purely flashes of brilliance. Moments of genius. Hints of humility. A loaner of meaning.
I focus on probing disposable regions of my soul, and I'm thinking slowly I'm sinking.
Lost control. Now these demons I wrote with, cohesive, are closing the rope 'round my throat, and I'm wheezing.
I'm choking. Can't breathe in. Can't hold it. I'm frozen. Broken and pleading.
Hopeless. I'm needing something. Exposing my weakness. I'm folding. Imploding. No one should see this.
... so I wrote it for reading.
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