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Surrender Your Sons

de Norma Jean

Your pale skin is a razor sharp wire, so I place these scales over my eyes. Don't touch me, I'm sick.
You whisper, but I hear only what I choose.
Hello my good old friend, your hand pulls me back from that mire or will I look back and stare and wonder if she is way back there.
Afterwards my mouth will be filled with gravel and I'm left alone.
You know that feeling of fear and desperation in the pit of your stomach making you nauseous.
Excitement apprehension you wish you could lose it all.
When your head spins and your stomach sweels.
The fear of dealing with this is stronger than the fear of just forgetting this and future I am scared of you.
I swear I'll find my way back to the light now that I'm left alone.

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