There was a time I was waiting in line

and it sat, My courage was just like a 

scraping around on its scabby knees, licking 

away at my skin, but I cannot follow you down.



I was pursued in chase

and she sat, the old woman with dead

rotten eyes,  she's gnashing of teeth and scratching

of nails, ripping away at my skin but, I cannot follow you down.



These time clock ticking lines

stealing these hours, again I find myself

crossing off another day.

Burn these little lines hidden in these wires.

I'm stained again but it's something I'll get used to.



And I could find a way to make it hurt 

and I would tear this body down, in tiny little pieces.

And I could find a way to make it hurt 

and I will tear these eyes out, with every scratching dignity crashing down.