Maybe I'm burnt circuitry,
wheeling downhill.
Rising, and cracking,
and cracking,
and tearing,
and wondering if I'm real;
if time is just another pill;
where waves are born until they're killed;
why emptiness can weigh and steal...

Every moment feels like it's wrong.
Every movement is movement lost,
or spent repairing damaged trust
between the Sun and its ending hue.

I can dream imaginations
to push my body through.
But, when I wake,
there's me,
an eternity,
and then you.

I'll suffer every drop I drew.