He has an axe to grind
You can hear the sounds
Forcing through his mind
He makes up argumentative voices
Sparks fly as he gets angry with imaginary demons
Cranial screeching drives him self-insane
He's going to leave soon
When he goes out the door
There will be no turning back
Shallow, enraged breaths
He turns the key
And God have mercy on the souls of those in the wrong place at the wrong time
Photo by Eliabe Costa on Unsplash
No comments:
Post a Comment