North Station


every drop is one more murder.
raining these days is genocide.

Planning a coup in my chest.
Planting a seed in your mind.

Hoping to find
Hoping to find

What the fuck,
were we hoping to find.

Burning in the back of my throat
acrid, acrid, acrid, acrid, i cried.

to no avail
tonal impale
total betrayal

All of our lies have just set sail,
on a journey of constant derail.

Writing a new disguise
gravestones at 75 more miles

in an hour,
in a furor,

chest still pounding
head still pounding
feet still pounding

i'm still ticking